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POEMS 



BY 



George Sinclair 



TROY TIMES ART PRESS, 1915 
TROY, N. Y. 






In Exchange 
Brown University 

na 1 3 1932 






iMbang, ^. ^. 
attb 

mi|e Purns Club 



GEORGE SINCLAIR 



George Sinclair was born November 27, 1863, in 
the village of Dollar, Clackmannanshire, Scotland. 
Dollar stands on the river Devon, which a few miles 
further west flows into the Forth, near the town of 
Stirling. It occupies the centre of a valley of singular 
beauty, being within sight of the Ochil Hills to the 
north and of Stirling Castle to the west. The scenes 
around are classic — the old battle-ground of Scottish 
history. The very soil is impulsive with song, of 
which the ancient strains continue to resound in every 
patriot heart, the whole "mete nurse for a poetic 
child." 

Dollar is otherwise distinguished. It possesses an 
Academy of national fame. The Scottish people take 
more pride in a good education and in each family 
owning a few volumes of wholesome literature than in 
any attainment of material wealth. This country is 
one where high intelligence goes with every trade. 
For three and a half centuries the parish school, 
equally with if not more than the parish church, has 
been the foundation and spring of Scotland's great- 
ness and her acknowledged place in the life of the 
world. This Academy George attended, and there 
received his entire school education. This was con- 
siderable, including, besides the ordinary English 
branches, a fair acquaintance with Latin as far as to 
the reading of Virgil, and at least the elements of 
Greek. That he was a successful pupil was evidenced 
by his shelf of prize volumes, by the enthusiasm with 
v/hich he was accustomed to speak of his teachers, 



6 GEORGE SINCLAIR 

and by his ample and discriminating vocabulary 
whether in prose or verse. 

But family demands were imperative. Every boy 
and girl in that land must contnbute to domestic 
expenses. For the next ten or eleven years, therefore, 
George expended himself in various avocations, first 
in the open fields familiar from his boyish days, and 
vhen in town, whither his higher ambition attracted 
him. 

It was his observation and experience as a shepherd 
lad on the Ochil Hills that enriched his mind with the 
choice and beautiful thoughts which later he enshrined 
in song. The fields, the woods, the streams, and their 
floral and faunal inhabitants all appealed to his poetic 
instinct; and easily and naturally he sung them in 
responsive verse. This he did with a purity of thought 
and an unerring choice of words gnd metres that 
could hardly be excelled. As one of Scotland's sons 
he was proficient in her native tongue and loved it 
with a passionate fondness. He even insisted that it 
was not, as usually imagined, a dialect, but a language ; 
and defended his position with arguments not easily 
met. 

On Scottish patriotic nights he was then wholly at 
home, and his muse, usually gentle in its expression, 
would flame forth with loyal energy. 

Those who are at all intimate with Scottish poetry 
of recent years, on reading the pieces which compose 
the present volume, will not be reluctant to acknowledge 
Mr. Sinclair's eminence in that department, or to rank 
him among the best of pur minor poets. It is not pre- 
•tended that he possessed the luxuriant strength and 



GEORGE SINCIvAIR 7 

picturesqueness of imagery of his famous model; but 
in smoothness of line and tenderness of sentiment, as 
well as in strenuous conviction in the loftier themes 
of life and duty, he was inferior to no one. 

Mr. Sinclair, leaving his native land, arrived in Troy 
in May, 1888, being then in his twenty-fifth year. He 
faced not a few of the fmancial hardships which the 
self-reliant frequently meet at the commencement of 
their career in a new country. But "a man's gift makes 
room for him." The place and the recompense came 
to him. He proved himself to be "a workman who 
needed not to be ashamed," and was appreciated by 
the company he served. He accordingly quickly rose 
in his profession. 

Only three or four years passed before he was able 
'to send over the sea to his own Bonnie Scotland for 
his own Bonnie Bride, whom bethrothed he had left 
behind, to come to him to Troy. Then established in 
a suitable and beautiful home, as husband and father 
and friend, for nearly a quarter of a century he lived 
a singularly happy and contented life. Possessing a 
winsome personality, he easily gathered friends. All 
who knew him loved him ; all who knew him well 
honored him. The original promoter of the Troy 
Burns Club, he never ceased to advance its interests 
and to cherish its friendships ; and every member 
prized his fellowship, recognized his genius and felt 
and enjoyed the genial magnetism of his presence. 
Not less was he esteemed by the St. Andrew's Society 
of Albany, at whose annual assemblies he was from 
time to time a hailed and welcomed guest, and to 
whom several of his perfervid inspirations were 
addressed. 



8 GEORGK SINCLAIR 

Having caught cold on the evening of Sunday, Sep- 
tember 26, it developed, notwithstanding the utmost 
care, into pneumonia, and on October 4 he passed 
away. To the last his memory wandered over the 
scenes of his earlier years and of his boyhood's home. 

Too soon we who loved him lost him. But He who 
measures our days is not limited by earthly standards. 
That life so beautifully lived, so suddenly to us cut 
short, has not ceased. No divine life can ever be left 
unfinished. There is another native country, even a 
heavenly, of which George Sinclair was a citizen. We 
therefore confidently cherish the faith and hope that 
there his rare love of all things pure and beautiful 
and of good report will meet its amplest fulfillment, 
and that his life will not be unfinished. That faith is 
not ungrounded ; that hope is not vain. 

H. H. 
J. H. P. 



CONTENTS 



Scotland — 

Scottish Freedom 15-18 

The Taking of Dunbarton Castle 19-21 

Saint Andrew's Centennial Day 21-22 

The Clansmen 23 

The Days O' Yore 24 

The Forth 25-26 

Montreal 26-27 

For Scotland 28 

When Britain Bares Her Brand 29-30 

The Scottish Martyrs 30-31 

Burns — 

1759 — Burns — 1904 35-36 

1759 — Burns — 1905 37-3^ 

1759 — Burns — 1906 39 

1759 — Burns — 1907 ••• 40-41 

1759 — Burns — 1909 42-43 

1759 — Burns — 1910 44-45 

175Q — Burns — 191 1 4^-47 

1759 — Burns — 1912 ... 47-49 

Personai, — 

To John G. Lawrie 53 

To David Henderson 54-55 

Adam Ross 56-57 

Three Troy Carles 57-5? 



lO CONTENTS 

At The Golden Gate 59-60 

My Freend, Andra 61-62 

To Mrs. John Potts 63 

Our Chieftain 64-65 

In Memory of Charles Duncan 66-67 

The Late General Wauchope 67-68 

Memory's Haunts — 

A Call From The Uplands 71 

To The Burnie 72-1Z 

Scenes of Yore 73-74 

Glendevon 75 

To The Linnet In Dollar Glen 76 

Dollar Glen 'j'j 

Amang The Ochils 78 

Seashore Songs 79-80 

The Feowers — 

Where the Wild Thistle Grows 83 

The Snawdrap 84 

To A Gowan 85 

Sing Me A Sang O' The Bent An' The 

Heather 86-87 

Welcoming The Arbutus 88-89 

The Primrose 89-90 

To A Daisy From Burns's Grave 91 

Gowd On The Broom 92 

The Thistle 93-94 

A Sprig Of Heather 94-95 



CONTENTS n 

Satire and Humor — 

The Great Gymkhana 99-100 

The Battle and The Mallet 101-103 

The Grasshopper's Warning 103-104 

Rory The Piper 105-106 

Sentiment — 

A Tryst 109 

My Shieling no 

A Pastoral Muse 111-112 

My Ain Hearthstane 113 

Contentit Wi' Yer Lot 114-115 

Nearin' Hame 116 

Tae Nellie's Dell 117 

My Fireside 118-119 

When I Come Hame At E'en 119 

Come Awa Tae The Hills Wi' Me 120 

The Hameless Laddie 121-123 

When I Gang Tae The Hill 123 

Sacred — 

The Path of Life 127 

David and Goliath 128-129 

Mither's Love 130-131 

Tie Only Hope 131 

The Church Bell 13^ 



SCOTLAND 



SCOTLAND 

SCOTTISH FREEDOM 

Come, Muse ! inspire a simple bard to sing 

His country's triumph o'er a foreign foe; 
Give him full measure of the words that ring 

With liberty, and let his phrases glow 
With love of country, kith and kin, and home. 

Teach him to tell in language meet and true 
How that fair land that dared the might of Rome, 

And Dane or Viking grim could not subdue. 
How Caledonia broke Oppression's chains, 

Scorned the usurper's claim, his s^ern decree, 
That he was lord of Scotia's fair domains. 

And stood before the world a nation, free ! 
I open wide the annals of the past, 

The records of six centuries ago ; 
I see my native land oppressed, downcast, 

I hear from vale and glen the wail of woe. 
I see the invader, with relentless hand. 

Despoil the home, lay waste the fertile field ; 
Yet though in blood his minions steep the land. 

Crushed, but unconquered, Scotia will not yield. 
Oppression for a time may scourge the land. 

And Might triumphant over Right may reign; 
But still for liberty will Scotia stand, 

While yet a hundred of her sons remain. 
The headsman's block, the tyrant's vengeful sword. 

Can ne'er extinguish Freedom's sacred fires ; 
The ravished home, by heaven and earth abhorred, 

The patriot heart to nobler deeds inspires. 
I see the Knight of EHerslie arise 

And bid defiance to an alien king; 
And from the hills where fair Loch Lubnaig lies, 

I hear the reveille of freedom ring. 



i6 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

They spring to arms, as did their sires of yore 

When Dane or Roman would their birth-right steal ; 
With trusty pike, with target and claymore, 

That band will win or die for Scotia's weal. 
They gain that rock, the ancient Briton's pride, 

Where oft before their sires have bravely striven ; 
Fierce is the fight, but o'er Dunbarton's side 

The foes of liberty are sternly driven. 
Again, o'er Ochil's verdant slopes I hear 

The freeman's battle call, the martial tread; 
And gathering hosts of heroes now appear 

In war array, by valiant chieftains led. 
The Wallace wight, heroic, noble, true 

To every trust committed to his care, 
Unsheaths his sword ; and Scotia's sons renew 

Their pledge to conquer or to perish there. 
From Stirling's towers, defiantly imfurled, 

The flag of England floats, as o'er the Forth 
A mighty host of horse and foot is hurled 

To crush the freebom warriors of the North. 
But England's mail-clad chivalry will feel, 

Ere yet Ben Lomond hides the autumn sun, 
The avenging shock of trusty Northern steel. 

And Scotland see a glorious victory won. 
O gladsome day! O soul-inspiring sight! 

When down from Cambuskenneth's rocky ridge 
Sweeps like an avalanche in sudden flight 

That band that gives to Fame its Stirling Bridge! 
Not all the vaunted power the Southron boasts 

Can stay the onset of the brave and free ; 
His legions melt before the douditv hosts 

That battle but for Right and Liberty. 
But change the scene ! Once more the despot sways 

His vengeful sceptre o'er a bleeding land. 
For subtle treachery again betrays 

A noble patriot to the murderer's hand. 



SCOTtANn 

But Freedom's cause was never doomed to die 

On miscreant's block, or tyrant's gibbet arm ; 
The blood of martyred Wallace still will cry 

From London Bridge, and Freedom's foes alarm. 
While Scotia mourns her noblest patriot slain, 

And Tyranny, exulting, mocks her grief, 
Behold The Bruce with valorous arm maintain 

His country's cause! O brave, heroic Chief! 
The scattered remnants of that faithful band 

That bled on many a field with Wallace wi-^ht, 
v\'^ith gladness hear their lawful king's command. 

And, rallying nobly, battle for the risht. 
They bleed, they suffer, but a brighter day, 

A day of glory, dawns on Scotia's reahn. 
When good King Robert's sceptre holds the sway. 

And men of valor Edward's power o'erwhelm. 
Behold the beacons flash from ben to be"'. 

From Galloway to Ross's furthest shore ! 
Hear the wild, warlike slogans ring again ; 

See a devoted race arise once more ! 
Auspicious day, when Caledonia sees 

Her sons uphold her honor and her laws ; 
When faithful islesmen from the Hebrides 

Unite with North and South in Freedom's cause. 
Come, men from Moray and the baiiks of Spey, 

With valiant Randolph let your pennons fly ! 
Come, Border warriors, and join the fray. 

With Douglas and The Steward, win or die ! 
Come. Lanark, Carrick, Kyle, The Isles, Argyll ! 

King Robert will your sturdy sons command. 
Come, Highland clan, come Lowland rank and file. 

With Edward Bruce charge for your native land ! 
The serried ranks of England now appear — 

The mightiest force a monarch ever led 
On Scottish soil. The mail-clad hosts draw near, 

And over Bannock's plains their legions spread. 



i8 POKMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

Should that dread host its Sovereign's wish reward, 

Then Liherty will wail a long farev^ell 
To Scotia's race. But Bannock's Held, regard ! 

Hear o'er the tumult Freedom's slogans swell ! 
See fifty thousand archers bend the bow ; 

See fifty thousand deadly arrows rain ; 
See Edward all the might of England throw. 

Mailed knight and foot, on Bruce's lines in vain. 
See Scotia's manhood meet the Southron's charge, 

Firm as the rocks that gird their native land; 
With Lowland pike, with Highland sword and targe, 

Unflinching and immovable they stand. 
What scenes of dreadful carnage greet the eye ; 

What sounds of fearful suffering rend the air; 
Dying and dead in thousands prostrate lie 

On Bannock's plains in ghastly bloody lair. 
Advance, brave Randolph! Forward, Edward Bruce! 

Charge, noble Douglas, with the Border men ! 
Save Scotland's honor, cut her fetters loose. 

And give her peace and liberty again ! 
''The Bruce", "The Bruce", resounds above the din ; 

Forward, brave Scots, Oppression's minions tame ; 
For liberty a glorious victory win. 

And give to Bannockburn immortal fame ! 
Resistless as the flow of Solway's tide, 

Bravely they charge o'er Bannock's gory plain ; 
Humbled is England's haughty monarch's pride, 

Her servile yoke forever rent in twain. 
Sing, minstrels, sound glad paeans round the world 

For victory won six centuries ago ; 
The "Lion Flag" of Bruce is still unfurled. 

And Scotia's mountains still with freedom glow. 
Ho ! every race that suffers serfdom's thrall, 

Arise ! and to the land of freemen turn ; 
Her noblest names and worthiest deeds recall — 

Bruce, Wallace, Stirling Bridge and Bannockburn ! 



SCOTLAND 19 

THE TAKING OF DUMBARTON CASTLE 

A mist hung o'er Glenfinlas, 

And all around was still, 
Save the sighing roll of Lubnaig, 

And the murmuring mountain-rill ; 
Among the brake and heather 

Five hundred warriors lay, 
Beneath the misty canopy, 

To wait the dawn of day. 

The bugle-blast resounded. 

As day broke o'er the glen, 
And soon adown the glades was heard 

The tramp of armed men ; 
For the honour of their country, 

For Feeedom's cause, they stand, 
And the noble knight of EUerslie 

Leads the heroic band. 

By winding mountain-passes, 

O'er meadow and o'er lea. 
All day they march with eager step 

To fight for Liberty; 
And who can stay the onset 

Of Justice and of Right, 
Resistless as an avalanche, 

As sudden in its flight? 

Oh! Tyranny, thy death knell 

Shall sound, ere yet the sun 
Doth shine again on Scotland, 

Where thy misdeeds are done ; 
And the bloody hosts of England 

Shall feel the avenging shock 
Of the Scottish pike and claymore. 

On old Dunbarton's rock. 



POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

For now that band of heroes 

Has gained the rocky height, 
And bounded o'er the ramparts, 

Like phantoms in the night. 
Ye tyrants, Hght your torches, 

Throw every door ajar, 
And rally all your minions, 

This is no mimic war! 

Out rushed in wild confusion, 

From turret and from hall. 
The legions of De Valence, 

With threats of death to all; 
No craven-hearted foemen 

Did their flaming brands reveal. 
But the flower of Scottish manhood, 

And a front of Scottish steel. 

The levelled pike awaited 

The furious Southron's charge. 
And then rang out the order — 

The claymore and the targe ! 
Down with the base usurpers, 

Down with the ruthless band, 
Ye valiant sons of Albyn ! 

Redeem your native land. 

Then fearful was the conflict, 

The rocks streamed with the gore 
Of a thousand of the English host. 

Who fell on Clutha's shore; 
And the emblem of Oppression 

From the battlements was torn; 
And the "Lion Rampant" proudly waved 

At the dawning of the morn. 



SCOTLAND 

Oh ! Wallace wight, the laurel 

Ne'er crowned a nobler head, 
And never truer patriots 

For home and country bled. 
The heart of Caledonia 

To Clutha's rock will turn, 
As the birthplace of that liberty 

Secured at Bannockburn. 



SAINT ANDREW'S CENTENNIAL DAY 

Hail ! brithers frae the Land o' Cakes, 

The thistle and the heather ; 
The land where Bruce and Wallace bled ; 

The land no foe can tether ; 
The land whence that immortal bard 

Poured o'er the earth a treasure, 
Of everlasting noble song. 

Whose power no man can measure. 

We love the land that gave us birth : 

We love her lakes and mountains ; 
Her grand, romantic, winding streams. 

Her sparkling caller fountains. 
We love the plains where Bannock rolls ; 

We love the Braes o' Yarrow ; 
The Bonnie Doon we all adore, 

In song there's not its marrow. 



POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

We love Columbia's sunny land, 

This land with plenty flowing; 
We look with pride back through the years 

With truest Freedom glowing. 
To bind in Friendship's strongest ties, 

Ties time can never sever, 
The "Stars and Stripes", the "Banner Blue" 

Shall be our high endeavor. 

St. Andrew's ensign waves aloft, 

His noble life inspires it; 
And "Help the Needy" points our aim, 

Our love of country fires it. 
Such love thrills every heart tonight. 

And makes this grand occasion — 
The climax of a hundred years — 

A glorious celebration. 

The friendship of the Scottish heart 

Is kindly, true and steady; 
The love that glows beneath the plaid 

Is leal, and ever ready 
To help a brother in distress, 

To make his burden lighter; 
To take the aged by the hand, 

And make his last hours brighter. 

The records of these hundred years 

Show loyalty ne'er failing; 
The noblest form of human love, 

True Charity, prevailing. 
Let that same staunch Fidelity 

Adorn the coming ages ; 
Then Scotland and St. Andrew's cause 

Will brighten history's pages. 



SCOTLAND 93 

THE CLANSMEN 

Sound the pibroch through Lochaber, 

Let Breadalbane hear the strain; 
Through the Lowlands wave the tartan, 

Clansmen muster once again. 
Far away by Vaal and Orange, 
Duty bids you rally there; 
Plaided warriors lead the vanguard, 

Drive Oppression from her lair. 

Pibrochs sounding o'er the kopjes, 

Tartans waving o'er the veldt, 
Will proclaim a glorious freedom, 

Heritage of noble Celt. 
Slavery can never flourish 

Where your standard is unfurled; 
Forward then, and for your country 

Gain respect from all the world. 

Many a plain shall be a graveyard, 

Many a hill be dyed with gore; 
Many a home in Bonnie Scotland 

Weep for those they'll see no more. 
Liberty was never planted 

Save on fields of bloody hue; 
Onward then, ye fearless warriors, 

Human weal depends on you. 

When the din of battle dieth, 

When the victory is won, 
To the vanquished show your mercy — 

Equal rights to every one. 
True humanity prevailing 

O'er a fair and prosperous land, 
Will reward your deeds of valour, 

Forward then, for Fredom stand! 



S24 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

THE DATS O' YORE 

Oh ! Scotland, beloved auld country, 

When far frae thy wave-beaten shore, 
A word or a flower frae our hameland 

Aye waukens sweet visions o' yore. 
A bonnie wee sprig o' heather, 

That bloomed in my native glen. 
Was gien me yestreen by an auld warld frien', 

An' I felt like a laddie again. 

Sweet thochts o' the days o' my childhood, 

Bricht glints o' a far awa clime, 
Fu' fast through my memory flitted, 

Undimmed by a long lapse o' time. 
I saw the braw heather-clad mountains, 

That tower roond my auld Scottish hame, 
I heard the sweet lays o' the birds on the braes. 

An' it put my heart a' in a flame. 

I guddled again in the burnie, 

I swung on the auld thorn tree, 
I played at the bools when the schule skailled. 

My peerie I dozed for a wee ; 
I wandered again through the woodlands, 

Wi' schulemates when schule time was o'er, 
Oh ! happy were we, sae careless an' free, 

In tlie lichtsome an' blythe days o' yore. 

Oh ! bonnie wee sprig o' heather. 

The charm is not in thy bloom — 
Thy flower is as fair as the fairest, 

Thy breath hath as sweet a perfume — 
But memories sleepin' are waukened, 

Langsyne brocht before us the day. 
Oh ! bonnie wee flower, thou wiekiest a power 

That can knit us thegither for aye. 

Guddled, Groped. Peerie, Spinning Top. 



SC0TI,AND 25 

THE FORTH 

Hail ! noble Forth, romantic stream, 
Of Scotland's rivers thou art queen; 

The cause of Freedom is my theme, 
And thou her noblest work hast seen ; 

In fancy then I'll roam once more 

Along thy waving, winding shore. 

Thy waters glide beneath the rock 
Where Liberty her flag unfurled; 

Where Freedom bravely stood the shock 
Oppression in her vengeance hurled. 

By Cambuskenneth's crumbling wall 

I hear the freemen's battle-call. 

Like waters o'er a wild cascade, 
I see them rush o'er Ochil's ridge, 
Full on the English host arrayed 

Defiantly by Stirling Bridge. 
Oh ! fell and bloody was the fray. 
But Scotland swept the field that day. 

I see the Bruce's standard wave 

Triumphantly o'er Bannock's slopes; 

I hear the slogans of the brave, 
See Scotland realize her hopes. 

Oh! plaided warriors, history 

Records no grander victory. 

On Stirling's battlements T stand; 

I see before me spreading wide 
The fairest prospect in the land, 

Historic ground on every side; 
A scene that can the heart inspire 
With love and patriotic fire. 



POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

Roll on, fair stream, in peace roll on, 
No more the invader scours the plain ; 

Yet memories of days bygone 
Forever round thee will remain. 

We see inscribed at every turn, 

Bruce, Wallace, Stirling, Bannockburn. 



MONTREAL 

Written at tKe request of tWe President of St. Andrew's 
Society of Alban5>, the occasion being the Fiftieth Anni\>ersary of 
the Caledonian Club of Montreal, Sept. 4, 1905. 

Congratulations, brither Scots, 

Nae doot are noo in order, 
An' sae this nicht we gladly send 

Best wishes ower the border; 
Frae Albany tae Montreal 

This earnest prayer is wafted : 
Oh ! may that spirit never dwine. 

By you sae hrmly grafted 

In Montreal. 

May mirth an' glee dance roond your board 

This nicht wi' lively measure; 
An' ilka Caledonian drink 

A rale guid waught o' pleasure; 
Sing "Stirling Bridge", an' "Scots Wha Hae", 

The "Maple Leaf", an' a' that; 
"The Standard on the Braes o' Mar", 

Let a' your pipers blaw that 

In Montreal. 

Dwine, Languish. Ilka, Each. Waught, Draught 



SCOTLAND 37 

The wandering Scot can ne'er forget 

The thistle an' the heather; 
His heart rins ower when he beholds 

The bonnet an' the feather; 
For fifty years ye've striven w<;el 

This inborn love tae nourish; 
If future ages grasp your zeal, 

The club will ever flourish 

In Montreal. 

Auld Scotland smiles across the sea 

Tae see her bairnies thrivin'; 
But prize was never worth a preen, 

When there was little strivin'; 
Sae keep your shouthers at the wheel, 

An' time will tell the story, 
How sterling worth, an' noble aim, 

Hae crooned your Club wi' glory 

In Montreal. 



Preen, ff in. 



e8 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

FOR SCOTLAND 

Know ye the land where the bluebell and heather 

Shed fragrance and beauty o'er mountain and vale ; 
Where the kilt and the plaidie, the bonnet and feather, 

Are emblems of freedom so dear to the Gael ; 
Where the eagle is lord of the wild, rocky den. 

And the red deer is monarch where stately pines wave ; 
'Tis the land of fair women, and true hearted men, 

'Tis Scotland, old Scotland, the land of the brave. 

Know ye the land where the primrose and gowan 

Embellish the woodland and spangle the lea ; 
Where the linties make love on the bonnie red rowan, 

And mavises lilt on the green birken tree ; 
Where the broom and the hawthorn flourish so grand, 

And the lark sings his song in the heavens so blue ; 
'Tis the land of the thistle, the patriot's land, 

'Tis Scotland, old Scotland, the steadfast and true. 

Know ye the land that so nobly hath striven 

On fields that ran red with the blood of the slain. 
That a merciless foe might forever be driven 

Beyond the green mountains that guard her domain ; 
Whose standard for ages her gallant sons bore, 

That freedom might flourish unblemished and real ; 
'Tis the land of the pibroch, the land we adore, 

'Tis Scotland, Old Scotland, the dauntless and leal. 

While there's heath on the mountain and brier in the 
hollow. 

As long as the billows her rocky shores lave, 
We will honour St. Andrew, and cheerfully follow 

Where'er the "Red Lion" and Blue Banner wave ; 
Let our voices resound in a glorious song, 

And let kindly winds waft it across the blue sea ; 
Let our hearts ever glow with a love that is strong 

For Scotland, old Scotland, the land of the free. 



SCOTLAND 29 j 

I 

WHEN BRIT AIM BARES HER BRAND i 

j 

Arise ! ye freemen of the Isles, ] 

Unsheath the sword once more ! 
And smite the foes of liberty, 

As did your sires of yore ! 
Let Celt and Saxon side by side j 

In freedom's vanguard stand ; : 

Show Right is Might and will prevail ] 

When Britain bares her brand ! | 

I 
Brave Belgium scorned th' invader's power; | 

Her people dared be free ; | 

Shall we unheeding hear her call ' 

For succor o'er the sea? ■ 

No ! not while with us yet remains 

This glory of our land — ; 

We'll go where honor points the way, ] 

When Britain bares her brand. i 

No greed of gain, no lust of power, ! 

Impels us to the fray; ' 

A nation's rights, a people's weal I 

We battle for today ! j 

Go ! win th' imperishable fame 1 

Heroic deeds command ! ' j 

Maintain the valor of your race, 

When Britain bares her brand! 1 

To victory through gory fields 

The way before you lies ; 
Go forth, and let the world behold 

A noble sacrifice ! 
The ruthless foe that steeps in blood 

A peaceful, prosperous land. 
Shall learn how Justice deals the blow j 

When Britain bares her brand. ' 



30 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

The thistle, rose and shamrock twined 

111 wreath of immortelle. 
Shall yet inspire the bard unborn, 

With their enchanting spell, 
How Britain's sons in Flanders bled 

To save a sister land; 
How freedom lives and bondage dies 

When Britain bares her brand. 



THE SCOTTISH MARTYRS 

Fragrant an' pure are the purple blooms 

On the heathery hills o' hame; \ 

But grander far are the names inscribed ■ 

On Auld Scotland's roll o' fame; ; 
Sweet is the broom, an' the primrose gay, 

An' bonnie the flower o' the haw ; 1 

But the bluid that flowed frae the martyr's veins * 

Has a greater worth than them a'. ' 

I 

Canty the sang that the laverock sings j 

As he wings his way on high ; j 

An' tunefu' the sound o' the mountain rill | 

As it trinkles and wimples by ; . i 

But the sangs men sang on the bleak hillsides j 

In the darksome days lang syne, j 

Hae a charm that thrills an' inspires the heart I 

Wi' a something mair truly divine. ) 

The glory o' Scotland is not in her bens, J 

Like sentinels towering high ; j 

Nor yet in her lakes or her winding streams j 

Does the glory o' Scotland lie ; i 

In the licht o' the fagots' blazing pile, ' 

In the dungeon's darkest shades, 

Behold the glory o' Scotland there, 1 

In a hajo that never fades. \ 



SCOTLAND 31 

Out on the muirland under the sky, 

They floated their banner o' blue, 
An' stude for the truth, an' worshipped God, 

Unflinching, undaunted an' true ; 
Threats o' the rack, or the gibbet airm. 

Or the prelate's wrath an' scorn, 
But quickened their love, an' strengthened their faith 

In the dawn o' a brichter morn. 

High was their aim, an' their purpose pure. 

For freedom alone they bled ; 
True to their Covenant, true to their God, 

It was hallowed bluid they shed ; 
The world rejoices they kept their troth 

With noble, unselfish zeal ; 
An' blesses the fearless martyr band 

That suffered for Scotland's weal. 



BURNS 



BURNS 35 

1759-BURKFS-1904 

Lang syne on famed Parnassus Hill 
The Muses met at Jove's command; 

He had a mission to fulfil — 
A journey to a distant land. 

Erato's voice had long been still, 
The lyre of Orpheus long unstrung; 

For ages on that mystic hill 

No god had played, no Muse had sung. 

It pleased old Jove, so fair a scene — 
The Nine in plaid and bonnet dressed, 

A sprig o' heath o' purple sheen 
On each fair bosom softly pressed. 

Toward the west he waved his hand, 
And thus addressed the winsome Nine : 

"Gang o'er the sae to Scotia's land, 
There honest worth and genius shine. 

"Along the banks o' bonnie Doon, 
A bright-eyed callant tills the lea; 

His raven locks wi' laurel croon, 
Proclaim him King of Poesy." 

A little while, and then there flowed 

O'er every land, o'er every sea, 
A mighty flood of song that glowed 

With truth, and love, and liberty. 

Like meteor's flash across the sky 
Shot "Unco Guid", and "Holy Fair" ; 

The insincere and false must die; 

Unworthy scenes like fate must share. 

The "Cottar" in his humble hame 
The truest Christian life reveals; 

Cathedral pomp and glitter tame 
When he before his Maker kneels. 



POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

The tend'rest chords of human love 
Vibrate when "Mary's" name is sung ; 

'Tis like an echo from above 

Of anthem from an angel's tongue. 

"Behind yon hills where Lugar flows", 
"The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle", 

Exhale the fragrance of the rose, 
The purest love, no art, no guile. 

The noble strains of "Scots wha hae" 
Resounding till the end of time — 

The patriot's song, the freeman's lay — 
Will nerve mankind in every clime. 

"Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower", 
Thy pathos melts the stoutest heart ; 

Such magic art, such wondrous power, 
He could to simplest themes impart. 

"Wee, sleekit, cowrin', tim'rous beastie". 
Even thou his pitying heart could thole 

The "panic" in thy wee bit breastie 
Stirred to its depths his inmost soul. 

Reared in a lowly, straw-thatched cot, 
Inscribed on high behold his name; 
The hand of Time can never blot 
That record from the Scroll of Fame. 

Beloved bard, as time rolls by 

Thy memory brightens with the years, 

A well whose spring will never dry. 
The fountain of our love and tears. 

Oh Scotia, dear, romantic land, 
Hear, as each natal day returns, 

From ice-bound coast to torrid strand, 
One grand acclaim for Robert Burns. 



BURNS 37 

1759— BURNS-1905 

Beloved landj in every clime 
This day the bells of gladness chime ; 
And all the nations of the earth 
Forgather round a Scottish hearth. 

Oh hallowed cot, Oh cherished home, 
Oh shrine of Scots where'er they roam, 
Whence comes the power thou hast to bind 
In love like this all human kind? 

We search the annals of the past, 
Our visions o'er the present cast. 
We read the secret, learn the spell, 
Resistless as the ocean's swell. 

Within those humble walls of clay 
A babe was born one winter's day; 
No trump was blown, no flag unfurled, 
Today his genius thrills the world. 

He bore no warrior's conquering sword, 
No pedigree of knight or lord ; 
His fame is fadeless, brighter far 
Than laurels won on fields of war. 

He tuned his lyre by nature's plan ; 
He sang the brotherhood of man ; 
And honest toil in every land 
Was sweetened by his magic wand. 

He sang of Scotia's flowery braes. 
Her mossy dells inspired his lays ; 
His mavis' sang, his cushat's croon, 
Brought Eden near his bonnie Doon. 



38 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLMP I 

A sympathy for all oppressed ' 

Forever dwelt within his breast; \ 

His tender heart from harm would shield J 

The meanest creature of the field. I 

Though whiles from virtue's path he strayed. ' 

And oft his nobler self betrayed ; j 

Yet still with humble, contrite heart, 1 

He strove to act the better part. i 

Let Him who knows the hearts of all ; 

Pass judgment on the poet's fall; ! 

We from his life will cull the good, ; 

And strive for closer brotherhood. ' 

The greatest blessing from above ! 

Is tender, true, unselfish love; ; 

Love lightens sorrow, softens woe, ' 

And makes life's stream more gently flow. * 

In one glad song of love tonight, i 

Around the earth all tongues unite ; I 

From shore to shore the echoes ring. j 

Beloved Burns, of thee we sing. ] 



BURNS 

1759— BURNS-1906 

There are names in Scottish story 

That will never pass away; 
There are deeds enshrined in glory 

That will nerve mankind for aye; 
An' whaurever freemen gather, 

As ilk natal day returns, 
They will praise the land o' heather, 

An' her Wallace, Knox, an' Burns. 

CHORUS. 

Then sing tae Scotland's dearest sons, 
The noble, dauntless three, 

A' ye wha loe the Banner Blue, 
The emblem o' the free. 

On the bonnie haughs o' Stirling, 

Wallace gar'd the Southron turn. 
Showing Bruce the way tae freedom 

Nobly won at Bannockburn. 
Fearless Knox, the prelate scorning, 

Dang enslaving creeds agley, 
That a purer faith miclit flourish 

In the hameland o' the free. 

Wi' his "Bonnie Doon" an' "Afton", 

Robin touched the chords divine ; 
In the lift o' sang he planted 

Stars that evermair will shine ; 
An' "A man's a man for a' that" 

Gar'd e'en honest poortith smile; 
An' the warld this day rejoices 

That our Robin sang in Kyle. 

Lift, Heaven Gar'd, Made Poortith, Poverty 



39 



40 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

1759-BURNS-1907 

There's an auld, auld brig in Scotland, 

In the ancient toon o' Ayr; 
It has stude the floods sax hunner years, 

May it stand sax himner mair; 
It is dear tae ilka Scottish heart, 

Sae we'll cherish it wi' care ; 
An' we'll sing the fame o' mony a name 
That is linked wi' the brig o' Ayr. 
That is linked wi' the brig o' Ayr, 
That is linked wi' the brig o' Ayr, 
We will sing the fame o' mony a name 
That is linked wi' the brig o' Ayr. 

It has seen auld Scotland dowie, 

When an alien claimed her croon; 
It has seen her Bruce an' Wallace wicht 

Drivin' hame the fremit loon. 
It has heard the voice of Freedom ring 

Frae the brink o' dark despair, 
An' his deathless sang hath raised a shrine 
On the bonnie banks o' Ayr. 
On the bonnie banks o' Ayr, 
On the bonnie banks o' Ayr, 
When the lads sae true bore the Banner Blue 
On the bonnie banks o' Ayr. 

Ilka, Every. 

Dowie, Sad. Wicht, Active. Fremit, Foreign. Loon, "Rogue. 



BURNS 4» 

It has heard the bard o' bonnie Doon 
Sing its memories auld an' dear; 
An' his deathless sang hath raised a shrine 

That the world will aye revere. 
It is frail, O Time, but still be kind 

Tae the precious load ye bear, 
For the men wha stude for their country's gude 
Hae hallowed the brig o' Ayr. 
Hae hallowed the brig o' Ayr, 
Hae hallowed the brig o' Ayr, 
For the men wha stude for their country's gude 
Hae hallowed the brig o' Ayr. 



43 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

1759-BURNS-1909 

Seven score and ten the years have passed, 

Since that eventful winter morn 
When Januar blew his cauldrife blast 

Around the hut where thou wert born ; 
And still thy name the dearer grows, 

As each succeeding day returns ; 
Thy memory like a river flows. 

Which Time but swells, immortal Burns ! 

Though cradled in a hut of clay. 

And scant the comforts thou could'st find- 
The world extols thy name today, 

And marvels at thy wondrous mind. 
No home can ever be so poor 

That genius will pass it by; 
A peasant's fame may aye endure; 

A prince's with his body die. 

Though born to labor at the plough, 

The Muses deigned to smile on thee; 
And place the laurel on thy brow, 

Thou King of deathless minstrelsy. 
Thy master hand attuned the lyre — 

So long unstrung on Scotia's shore; 
Imbued it with diviner fire, 

And hallowed it for evermore. 

Thine is a voice of magic power 

That thrills mankind in every land; 
Whose charm beguiles the weary hour, 

Whose accents nerve the patriot's hand. 
And as we sing thy stirring lays — 

Thy simple songs that touch the heart, 
We roam in fancy o'er the braes 

Immortalized by poet's art. 

Cauldrife. Chilling. 



BURNS 

We see the flag of Freedom wave 

Triumphantly o'er "Bannock's" plain; 
We see "Sweet Afton's" waters lave 

Thy "Highland Mary's" feet again. 
We hear the "Crystal Devon's" croon, 

The "gurgling" of the winding "Ayr"; 
We roam again by "Bonnie Doon" — 

Thy spirit haunts the woodlands there. 

Thine was the manly voice that sung 

The wise decrees of Nature's plan; 
The song men sing in every tongue : — 

The common brotherhood of man. 
Though "born in Kyle", mankind will claim 

A common kinship, Burns, with thee; 
For thine's th' imperishable fame 

Encircling every land and sea. 

As long as "Nith" and "Lugar" flow, 

Thy verse will prove a treasure-trove — 
A bounteous mine where men will go 

And find the gems of Truth and Love. 
And thus it is this day we bring 

Our tribute to thy sacred shrine; 
And o'er the earth glad paeans ring 

For Scotia's bard, and auld lang syne. 



43 



44 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

1759-BURNS-1910 

Hail, Scotia! hail, heroic land 
Whose every glen is hallowed ground, 

Whose sea-girt shores and rocky strand 
Guard many a sacred patriot-mound I 

I send thee greetings o'er the sea, 

Thou land of love and liberty. 

When Rome of old her legions hurled 
On fair Britannia's fertile plains, 

Who dared the mistress of the world, 
And scorned to wear her servile chains? 

The youth of Scottish hill and dale ; 

The freedom-loving, dauntless Gael. 

Where Clyde and Solway's waters swell, 
What glorious memories haunt the shore 

And but the tolling Sabbath bell 
Commemorates the deeds of yore ; 

They need no sculptured pile, or cairn — 

Columba, Ninian, Kentigeni. 

The grim marauders of the north 
Came ravishing thy western main ; 

At Largs thy mountaineers rush forth. 
And Haco's hosts bestrew the plain. 

The Viking's power in twain is riven, 

And from thy shores forever driven. 

I see an unrelenting foe 

For ages gnawing at thy heart ; 

I see thy Wallace deal the blow 
Which but the patriot can impart ; 

The might of England overthrov/n. 

And Stirling Bridge a Marathon ! 



45 



And southward now mine eyes 1 turn, 
Behold a scene beyond compare — 

The gory plains of Bannockburn ; 
The Bruce's flag triumphant there. 

A tyrant's power and vengeance braved, 

A nation's independence saved. 

The centuries pass, the tale is told 
Of deeds that light thy darkest days, 

When men with God communion hold, 
With sword in hand, upon thy braes. 

No nobler fight was ever fought ; 

No victory more dearly bought. 

A brighter era now appears. 

Thy sword is sheathed, thy harp is strung; 
The listening world with rapture hears 

Thy songs of love and freedom sung; 
And every nation of the earth 
Now hails the day gave Robin birth. 

The arts of industry and peace 
Engage thy sturdy people now ; 

The scourge of war and suffering cease 
When men are beckoned to the plow. 

Let Love be King ! 'Tis Heaven's plan 

To seal the brotherhood of man. 

Beloved land of misty bens, 

And moorlands wild where laverocks sing ; 
Thou land of muse-inspiring glens 

Where heather blooms and pibrochs ring ; 
My love for thee I'll never tyne, 
Sae here's my hand, for auld lang syne. 

Tyne, Lose. 



46 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR ; 

1759-BURKfS-1911 

\ 

Fair mistress of the western world, 

With pride old Scotia turns to thee — : 

The land where liberty unfurled : 

The glorious ensign of the free. 

All power to thy protecting hand, ; 

Great guardian of a hemisphere. ^ 

May peace forever haunt thy land, i 

And bless thy people year by year. [^ 

Thy sturdy sons in days of yore 

Defied a tyrant monarch's might ; , 
Today thy hospitable shore 

Attests their valor in the fight. \ 

And Lexington and Concord stand, i 

Twin monuments of patriot zeal ; ; 

Oppression, fettered by thy hand, ] 

Threatens no more thy nation's weal. i 

The patriot needs no sculptured stone j 

To mark wherein his ashes lie ; 1 

Thy Lincoln, Grant and Washington ] 

Leave memories that never die. ] 

Freemen in ages yet to be ■] 

Back through the years will fondly turn, I 

In Gettysburg and Yorktown see j 

A Stirling Bridge and Bannockburn. ^ 

Where'er thy Starry Banner flies, 1 

Freedom and Justice flourish there; ] 

In industry and enterprise I 

Thy nation towers beyond compare. ; 

Thy laws beneficent and just j 

The truest liberty proclaim ; j 

Thy motto stands, "In God We Trust", ^ 

The secret of thy matchless fame. 



47 



Columbia, peace-loving land, 

Guard well thy sacred heritage ; 
The freedom of the Pilgrim band 

Inviolate keep from age to age. 
Uphold this truth — all men are free ; 

And foster Heaven's eternal plan. 
This be thy settled destiny : 

To seek the brotherhood of man. 

From Solway's sands to Hudson's brink 

A thousand leagues of ocean roll ; 
Each billow a connecting link. 

Binding two nations soul to soul ; 
And kindred hearts united sing, 

Whene'er this natal day returns, 
Th' immortal songs that closer bring 

The lands of Whittier and Burns. 



1759-BURNS-1912 

Come gather, gather, gather, men, 
Frae Lowlan' plain, an' Norlan' glen ; 
Auld Time's brang roun' the day again, 

The twenty-fifth o' Januar. 
What though auld Boreas gies a blaw, 
Fills heiclit an' howe knee-deep in snaw. 
There's warmth within the banquet ha', 

The twenty-fifth o' Januar. 

Ye're welcome, Celt or Saxon, here ; 
Your creed or colour nane will speir, 
This nicht o' a' nichts in the year. 

The twenty-fifth o' Januar. 
Nae mair's required — the best ye can, 
Whate'er betide, aye be a man ; 
Sae sang the bard whase life began 

The twenty-fifth o' Januar. 



48 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR ' J 

We'll gather roun' the festive board, j 

Wi' halesome fairin' richly stored ; \ 

Mix, herd an' hind, wi' laird an' lord, ! 

The twenty-fifth o' Janiiar. 

We'll gust oor gabs wi' haggis gude, i 

An' toastit cakes, an' ither fude; ; 

But higher things will fire oor blude, j 

The twenty-fifth o' Januar. j 

We'll sing o' Scotia's heather bens, i 

Her broomy knowes, an' primrose dens, J 

The glory o' her straths an' glens, ' 

The twenty-fifth o' Januar. ; 

We'll tune the pipes, an' gar them skirl, J 
The very wa's we'll mak them dirl ; 

Gude fellowship a' roun' we'll birl, j 

The twenty-fifth o' Januar. ■ 

But grander tribute still we'll bring — ' 

The sang o' brotherhood we'll sing; ' 

"A Man's a Man"j loud let it ring! i 

The twenty-fifth o' Januar. t 
In Friendship's sang, an' Freedom's lay, 

"For Auld Lang Syne" an' "Scots Wha Hae" ] 

Let ilka heart rejoice this day, j 

The twenty-fifth o' Januar. 

What wondrous power attracts us hither? ] 

What is't that knits oor hearts thegither ? j 

Maks ilka ane say, hail! my brither? ■ 

The twenty-fifth o' Januar. 

It's no the feast, it's no the singing, ■ 

It's no the fiery rhetoric ringing, j 

It's love on tireless pinions winging, j 

The twenty-fifth o' Januar. j 



BURNS 4q . ] 

It's love that hallows "Bonnie Doon", I 

It's love maks sacred "Afton's" croon; i 

Love lichts the halo circling roun' •; 

The twenty-fifth o' Januar. ' 

In every land, in every clime, ■ 

Where still revolve the hands o' Time, , 

Love's silver bells o' joy will chime, ] 

The twenty-fifth o' Januar. ^ 

His mnse, "though hamely in attire", i 

Divinely strikes the golden lyre ; ' ] 

All humankind its chords inspire, j 

The twenty-fifth o' Januar. J 

He loves the right, he loathes the wrong, ' 

That is the secret of his song; ; 

The wile that charms the admiring throng, i 

The twenty-fifth o' Januar. i 

The name an' fame of Robert Burns j 

Shall live while crumble stones and urns, ] 

His songs be sung while still returns j 

The twenty-fifth o' Januar. j 

Oh ! land of song ! all hail to thee ! j 

Thy minstrel, and his minstrelsy ! j 

Reverberates o'er every sea, j 

The twenty-fifth o' Januar. 



PERSONAL 



PERSONAL 53 \ 

TO JOHM G. LAWRIE ! 

Coatbridge, Scotland 
Awake, my muse! attune thy lyre, 

For I anither sang maun sing; 
Let memories dear my theme inspire. 

An' gie my verse a hamely ring. 
Far ower the sea my thochts return, 

'Mang cherished scenes I roam again, 
Where fancy leads me by the burn 

That sighs an' sings through Monkland Glen. 

Amang the thorn the blackbird sings, 1 

The laverock carols in the blue; 1 

On bank an' brae the primrose springs, J 

The bluebell nods amang the dew. < 
Ilk winding path, an' briery dell, 

Is strewn wi' memory's sweetest flowers; j 

Ilk greenwood glade, an mossy fell, j 

Recalls the joys o' vanished hours. | 

Amang the favourite haunts of yore, j 

My genial friend, I hear thy voice ; I 

I grasp thy manly hand once more, \ 

Thy greeting maks my heart rejoice; ' 

My soul enraptured drinks a draught 

Distilled from friendship's rarest vine ; 
The zephyrs of remembrance waft 

The sweetest incense o' lang syne. ■ 

Auld Time may tak an unco flicht, j 

Ere we stravaig by Calder's stream ; | 

He canna darken memory's sicht, 

I'll wander there in many a dream ; 
And aft as gloaming shadows fa', 

I'll whisper tae the western gale 
A word tae him that's far awa, 

Amang his kin in Calder dale. 

Stravaig, Stroll. 



54 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCI^AIR 

TO DAVID HENDERSON 

Secretary of tke "TKistle Club", Salt Lake Cit]?, Utak 

Dear Davie, it's noo mony a day 

Sin I received your letter ; 
But let my muse tak a' the wyte 

That I'm sae lang your debtor. 
Your kindly words in guid braid Scots 

Had power tae knit thegither 
Your heart an' mine in friendship's ties, 

Henceforth I'll ca' ye brither. 

Whene'er I hear my mither tongue, 

Sae far awa frae hame, man, 
It waukens visions o' lang syne 

That set my heart aflame, man ; 
I see auld Scotia's towering hills 

In robes o' purple sheen ; 
I hear again her birdies' sangs 

In leafy shaws sae green. 

I see the auld folk, leal an'true, 

Wi' lads an' lassies mingle ; 
1 hear their sangs an' canty cracks 

Aroond the couthie ingle ; 
Sic happy scenes o' mirth an' glee 

Made weary hearts grow cheery ; 
The hard day's toil was like a dream. 

The nichts were never drear}'. 

Couthie Ingle, Friendly Fireside Wyte, Ulame 



PERSONAL 55 i 

The simple joys my childhood kent 

Beside the burnie playin', 
The gladsome hours o' youthfu' love 

Through dewy dingle strayin', j 
Enchant me noo when gloaming fa's, 

An' hearts delight tae ponder; I 

For time hath hallowed ilka scene j 

Whaur memory loves tae wander. j 

When roaming fancy taks its flicht 

Amang the scenes o' yore, man, , 

The heart that feels the tender glow ' 

Has meikle guid in store, man ; 

The man that for his native land ^ 

His ain heart's bluid wad shed, \ 

Will aye be ready tae defend ; 

The land that gies him bread. 

In fair Columbia's peacefu' land 

There's fortune tae be won, man ; ] 

There's inspiration in the licht ' 

That streams frae Freedom's sun, man. ■ 

Wi' eydent hand an' lichtsome heart. j 

Life's obligations meet ; I 

The day weel spent brings sweet content, ' 

An' happiness complete. i 

I 

Whaure'er we dwell then, worthy freen, ; 

Oh ! may we never tine, man, \ 

The love for a' the guid an' true, i 

Instilled in us lang syne, man ; ] 

The flag that waves o'er Bannockburn j 

We'll cherish an' revere ; j 

An' love Auld Glory's stars and stripes, | 

Wi' loyalty sincere. ] 



Dingle, Dell 



5© POEMS BY GEORGK SINCLAIR 

ADAM ROSS 

On His 5e%)enty-tKircl Birthday 

Ye're weel ayont three score an' ten, 
In years ye're grovvin anld, Adam ; 

But bravely still ye spiel the hill, 
Licht-hearted, yap an' j^auld, Adam. 

Through a' the warld's care an' strife, 

Ye've steered an honest coorse through life; 

Yer eydent hand's made comfort rife, 
Brang joy intae yer fauld, Adam. 

Yer buirdly frame, wi' mell in hand, 

Frae toil ne'er cryiied wi' fear, Adam ; 
Heaven spare ye yet, wi' rowth o' grit, 

Tae darg for mony a year, Adam. 
A generous heart, an open mind, 
A nature ne'er tae freit inclined, 
A faithfu' freend in thee we find, 
An' aye a word tae cheer, Adam. 

Back through the years, twa score an' ten, 

In field or ha' we see, Adam, 
In tartan plaid an' kilt arrayed, 

A chief that bears the gree, Adam ; 
True tae the Auld Land owre the sea. 
True tae this Land o' Liberty, 
Yer worth deserves we tender thee 
The best our hearts can gie, Adam. 

Spiel, Climb Eydent, Diligent Yap an' yauld. Keen and Alert 
Cryned> Shrunk Rowth. Plenty Darg. Totl Freit. Superstition 



PERSONAL, 

This is our wish this happy nicht — 

A bonnie eild be yours, Adam, 
Wi' her ye loe, tae see ye through, 

An' cheer Hfe's gloamin hours, Adam ; 
An' when yer dargin days are past, 
May dule yer herthstane ne'er owrecast, 
Blest be yer biggin tae the last, 
Wi' love that aye endures, Adam. 

Eild, Old age Dargin> Toiling Dule, Sorrow 



57 



THREE TROT CARLES 

Adani Ross, Fergus Dodds, Andrew Patterson 
about to sail for tke Land o' Cakes 

Auld Scotland ! Get your pipes in tune, 

Your ferlies put in order; 
Proclaim the news in ilka glen, 

Frae Caithness tae the Border; 
The tid's come ower three Trojan carles, 

An' sune they'll cross the ocean; 
My certie, but they'll gar things reek 

Whene'er they tak the notion. 

There's Adam, chief o' mony a splore; 

Fergus, a worthy cronie; 
An' Andrew, unco suple yet. 

Can dance a fling wi' ony. 
Gie them a hearty welcome hame, 

Wi' carefu' hand aye steer them; 
Let pleasures greet them as they gang, 

An' no a care come near them. 

Ferlie, Wonden Tid, Thought, humor Gar, Make Reek, Smoke 
Splore, Exaggerated story Cronie, Chum 



58 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR ' 

When they stravaig by Alloway, | 

Send rain an' thunder wi' them — -i 

Juist sic a storm as Shanter saw — 
But keep the witches frae them. 

Hech ! mither, then, when Adam speaks, 
He'll set your auld heart throbbin', 

An' bring tae mind yon famous nicht 

Immortalized by Robin. 

1 

An' when they gang tae Paisley toon, ] 

Far famed in sang an' story. 
Let Fergus tae his heart's content 

Extol her ancient glory. 
Here let him sing o' "Craigielea", j 

"Gleniffer Braes" an' a' that ; ^ 

Till a' the weavers shout for joy — J 

"A Paisley bairn for a' that." ■] 

J 
\ 

And when they wander through Menteith, j 

Provide them sunny weather, j 

An' piper lad tae cheer their hearts i 

x^mang the purple heather. 

Upon Ben Lomond's lofty tap \ 

Let Andrew dance a fling there ; j 

Then ye will hear their famous cry : | 

"Wha's like us ?" loudly ring there. ' 

In a' their wanderings north an' south, ' 

Tae halesome fare aye treat them ; ' 

An' may their wj^sons never want , 

A drap o' dew tae weet them. j 

And send them back renewed in health, •; 

An' heartfelt thanks we'll send ye : 
An' ilka Trojan Scot will pray 

Guid fortune aye attend ye. ; 

Stravaig, Stroll Wysons, U^easands 



PERSONAL 59 

AT THE GOLDEN GATE 

Tae an Auld Freend, Andrew Cunningham 

Aiuira, auld freend, though far awa, 

Ye'U ne'er be oot o' ken, man, 
As lang as Geordie's hand is tit 

Tae warstle wi' a pen, man; 
Three thoosand miles may lie atween's, 

Yet we can hae oor cracks, man. 
For Uncle Sam's a kindly carle — 

Juist gie him twa three placks, man. 
My muse has promised rowth o' rhyme. 

Although the hour be late, man; 
And sae my speerit taks a hicln. 

Clean tae the Golden Gate, man. 

Auld cronie, let us glower a wee 

Intil life's keekin gless, man; 
Things bude be as refleckit there, 

An' no a random guess, man ; 
This warld's an unco dreary warld 

For minds that aye are drumlie; 
But for the cheerfu', manly heart. 

It's unco fair and comely; 
An' life may be a heaven or hell, 

Whate'er we chuse tae mak o't ; 
We hae the power within oorsel 

The guid or bad tae tak o't. 

Warstle, tVrestle Cracks, Conversation Placks, Small copper coin 
Rowth, Abundance Cronie, Chum Keekin, Looking Bude, Must 
Drumlie, Muddy 



6o POEMS BY GEORGE SINCEAIR 

Andra, ye've trodden life's larig road, 

The feck o' auchty year, man; 
Ye keepit aye yer shanks in trim, 

Yer noddle aye was clear, man ; 
YeVe drunk life's bitterest cup o' grief. 

It's sweetest joys ye've tastit; 
An' Cunningham, that honoured name, 

Andra, ye've ne'er disgraced it. 
Wi' open heart, an' open luif. 

An honest course ye steered, aye ; 
Nae nippit freendship e'er was yours, 

A freend in need ye cheered, aye. 

We miss yer coonsel in the Club, 

Yer hearty lauch an' a', man ; 
An' mony a Trojan's heart was wae. 

The day ye gaed awa', man. 
But oh ! the memories o' lang syne 

Grow brichter wi' the years, man. 
E'en as the heavy murnin heart 

Grows lichter wi' the tears, man. 
An' noo, auld freend, this prayer I breathe : 

May health an' joy attend ye; 
A bonnie eild wi' them ye love, 

May gracious Heaven send ye. 

Feck, Greater part Luif, Look Eild, Old age 



PERSONAL 6i 

MY FREEKfD, AKfDRA 

To My Friend, Andrew W. Loudon 

Meet me on the Hoosic pike, 

Andra, Andra, 
Buskit for a healthy hike, 

My freend, Andra ; 
Leavin' a' the city's thrang, 
Swith intae the fields we'll gang. 
Flowery braes we'll roam amang, 

My freend, Andra, 

In some fragrant spreading shaw, 

Andra, Andra, 
We will while an hour or twa. 

My freend, Andra ; 
Keekin in the crannies there. 
Woodland ferlies layin' bare^ 
We will twyn auld carle care, 

My freend, Andra, 

Whaur the bending willows hing, 

Andra, Andra, 
Nature's sweetest sangsters sing, 

My freend, Andra ; 
Sained in sic a place tae be. 
We will linger there a wee, 
Sylvan sweets thegither pree. 

My freend, Andra. 



Buskit. Dressed Keekin, Peeping Ferlies, Wonders Twyn, "Despoil 
Carle, Churl Sained> "Blest Pree, Taste 



62 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCEAIK 

Scenes like thae uplift the heart, 

Andra, Andra, 
Vigour tae the mind impairt, 

My freend, Andra 
He wha seeks a halesome guide — 
Nature's book is open wide, 
Free tae a' wha wad confide, 

My freend, Andra. 

Till we see the gloaming fa', 

Andra, Andra, 
Unco sweirt tae come awa. 

My freend, Andra 
Linkan hame at een we'll find, 
By our couthie hearths enshrined. 
Love, devoted, leal, an' kind. 

My freend, Andra. 

Unco sweirt, Very sorry Link£^n, Tripping Couthie, Kindly 



PERSONAI, i 

TO MRS. JOHN POTTS 

To Mrs. JoKn Potts, with a sprig of KeatKer plucked at Bannock- 
burn, tKe occasion being her eighty-sixth birthda}?, Nov. i6, 1908 

Go! bonnie bloom, this happy day, 
To one we love this wish convey : 
May health and happiness for aye 

With her abide; 
And, as she toddles doon the brae, 

Heaven be her guide. 

Life knows no greater joy than this, 

No sense of truer happiness : 

The kindly smile, the fond embrace 

Of filial hearts; 
Heaven grant our friend may taste the bliss 

Such love imparts. 

Tell her thy fragrance once was shed 
Upon the plains where Wallace bled ; 
Where Bruce our sires to victory led 

In days of yore, 
And Freedom raised her drooping head 

To weep no more. 

Bring memories back o' childhood's days, 
Lang syne on Scotia's flowery braes ; 
The cushie's croon, the lintie's lays, 

She'll hear again. 
While through the years her fancy strays 

To some fair glen. 

Hers is the heart that ne'er grows auld, 
Hers is the love that ne'er grows cauld ; 
May peace and joy within her fauld 

Aye intermingle, 
An' love an' friendship freely wald 

Around her ingle. 

Cuihie, tLingdovt W»ld, fr*va\t 



64 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

OUR CHIEFTAIN 

Peter Kinnear, Albany) 

Read before tKe St. Andrew's Societ;9 on St. Andrew's NigKt 1907 

Respected Chieftain, honored and revered 

O'er all the land, where'er thy fame is known ; 
To all thy fellow-countrymen endeared 

By mighty works inspired by love alone ; 
We meet again on this auspicious night — 

Rejoiced that thou art with us to impart 
The counsel of a guide whose deeds recite 

The aim and purpose of an honest heart. 

And as we gather in this festive hall — 

This monument of patriotic zeal — 
'Tis fitting that thy countrymen recall 

Thy eflforts for their comfort and their weal. 
To thee we owe a debt of gratitude, 

Which but appreciative hearts can pay; 
With one accord, with one desire imbued. 

We sing thy praise on this Saint Andrew's day. 

Around thy name what memories entwine^ 

What fervent scenes of other days appear ; 
What joyful gatherings in the days lang syne 

We see again whene'er thy name we hear. 
Thy steadfast loyalty through all the years 

Hath woo'd from every heart its high esteem ; 
Thy kindly hand hath wiped away the tears 

Of many a brother in misfortune's stream. 



PERSONAL 6' 

Thy staunch hdehty to every trust 

Declares thy worth, we need no other seal ; 
Thy heart, benevolent, and kind, and just, 

Proclaims what modesty would fain conceal. 
Old Scotland's sons on fair Columbia's strand 

Will bless thy name in ages yet unborn ; 
And bards will sing of thee o'er all the land. 

When Scotsmen welcome in Saint Andrew's morn. 

Accept the tribute noble deeds command — - 

The love and grateful thanks of friends sincere — 
And this our wish : may heaven direct the hand, 

And guide the footsteps of our friend Kinnear; 
And spare thee long in health and happiness ; 

And give thee joy, and peace, and sweet content ; 
The same kind heart to comfort and caress, 

And journey with thee till thy day is spent. 



6b POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

IM MEMORY OF CHARLES DUKfCAM 

First President of Troy Burns Club 

His darg is dune, he's taen the gate 

Frae whilk there's nae roturnin' ; 
Drap sorrow's tear upon his bier. 

This day o' dule an' murnin'. 
Heaven gave him days — th' allotted span, 

In honest toil he spent them ; 
He died, as he had lived, a man, 

Beloved by a' that kent him. 

Kind, modest, manly, plain, sincere, 

Staunch, constant, tried an' leal, aye ; 
A hale-souled, candid, trusty fere. 

His aim a brither's weal, aye. 
He loved the truth, he kept his tryst. 

Aye frank an' free his greeting ; 
His grasp was real, it gard yin feel 

The better for the meeting. 

He loved the hour of social glee, 

Wi' kindred souls uniting ; 
He had the wile that could beguile, 

The manner aye inviting. 
But noo he's gane, he's ower the frith, , 

Our noble-hearted brither. 
He left tae fame th' untarnished name ; 

He gaed withoot a swither. 

Darg, Dn^'i tatk Dule, OrUf Fere, FrUni Swither, HtUtMUon 



PERSONAI, 67 

But let us dry the watery ee, 

Though fate hath sairly dung us ; 
An' let his memory ever be 

Kept fresh an' green among us. 
He earned his rest ; our Chief we tyne, 

But Providence is kind, aye, 
Tae leave sweet memories o' lang syne 

For coming days tae mind., aye. 



Tyne, Lo 



THE LATE GENERAL WAUCHOPE | 

Killed at Magersfontein 1 

Far, far from the home that he cherished so well, j 

We have laid him at rest on the field where he fell, I 

With his noble dead marshalled around him : I 

We have followed our chieftain to many a field, ' 

In danger his presence has aye been our shield, '■ 

And a friend ever true we have found him. ] 

On that wild midnight march, in the thick of the fray. 

His courage inspired as he led us the way, ' 

And he fell where the field was most gory ; | 

No censure upon him for that fatal night, 1 

Or his Highlanders' work in the bloody fight, ] 

Will be written in song nor in story. ? 

He knew that the order was reckless and vain, ; 

But too faithful was he, and too brave, to complain, ^ 

Not a murmur, his duty fulfilling; ; 

And they rallied beside him, his comrades of old — j 

And nevef did man such devotion behold — \ 

Round theii* ehiiltain their blood fi-gely spillmj4. | 



63 PO^MS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

"To Lochaber no more, to Lochaber no more," 
Our chief will return to Lochaber no more, 

Let him rest 'neath the lone waving veldt ; 
Let the pipes their most sorrowful melody play — 
"The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away", 

Fitting dirge round the grave of the Celt. 

Thou sweet winding Modder, flow gently along, 

Let the winds o'er our dead waft thy murmuring song. 

Till the day they awake from their sleeping ; 
And down through the ages their gallant deeds tell, 
How bravely they fought, and how nobly they fell, 

And we leave them at rest in thy keeping. 

Oh ! land of our fathers, thy sorrow is deep ; 
In many a home will the fatherless weep. 

And many a tie will death sever; 
But know ye, our comrades were true to their name; 
And their honor unsullied, no blot on thy fame. 

We bid them farewell now for ever. 



MEMORY'S HAUNTS 



memory's haunts 71 

A CALL FROM THE UPLANDS 

Oh ! bid farewell to the sun-baked street — 

There's a voice from the uplands calling — 
Come away where meadow and moorland meet, 
Where the path is green, and the air is sweet, 

And the odours of health are falling; 
Come where the shadows linger longest, 
And the fragrance of clover and pine is strongest. 

Come away from the smoke, the dust, and the din. 

Come where the thrush is singing; 
Come where the crystal burnies rin. 
And the Naiads bathe in the siller linn, 

And the eglantine is springing; 
Come where the feathered lovers woo 
In the dingles dripping with pearly dew. 

Come where the waters of Wynantskill flow, 
'Mong maples and sumach crooning ; 

Where field and forest are all aglow, 

And\the ozone-laden zephyrs blow. 
And the woodland choir is tuning; 

A worshipper be at Nature's shrine, 

And soothe your soul with music divine. 

In the tiresome town why suffer and sigh ? 

Come where the herds are lowing; 
Under the dome of the azure sky 
'Tis sweet on a verdant couch to lie, 

When the balmy gales are blowing ; 
Come, drink delight on the upland braes, 
And see the glory of summer days. 



72 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCEAIR 

TO THE BURKflE 

Burnie, wee burnie, that rins by my dwallin, 
Sweet is the Hit o' yer atild-farrant sang; 

Cantily, couthily, never devallin, 
Wimplin, diniplin, rowin alang. 

Clear as the dewdrap that spangles the heather, 
Pure as the snawflake that whitens Ben Shee, 

Caller, refreshing, whate'er be the weather, 
Sweeter than nectar 's a bicker frae thee. 

Gie gentles their vessels o' marble tae wash in. 
Their poother an' perfume tae mak them feel braw ; 

They miss the delight in thy crystal stream splashin' 
The odours o' health o'er the uplands that blaw. 

A dook i' the linn an' my limbs are the lither, 
My heart is the lichter an' keener my ee ; 

I gang tae the hill ilka morning the blyther 

For wooing the wiels that are halesome an' free. 

Green are thy banks when the year's i' the dawin. 
Burnished in siller an' govv^d at its noon; 

Bonnie thy braes when its gloamin is fa'in, 
An' heather is purple, an' brackens are broon. 

Awa wi' the wiles an' the glare an' the glamour 
O' the pleasure the dinsome city kens ; 

Gie me the simple joys that enamour — 

The mirth o' the muirlands, the glee o' the glens. 

Auld-farrant, Cunning. Cantily, Cheerily. Couthily, Kindly. Devallin, Never 
Ceasing. Bicker, Draught. Dook, 'Bath. Wiels, Pooh. 



memory's haunts 73 

In sunshine or shadow there's pleasure in dargin, 
Though herding a' day 's unco toilsome I ween, 

I ken there's a sweet recompense in the bargain, 
An' joyful's the welcome that greets me at een. 

Bein is my shieling, an' couthie my ingle, 
Canty my hearthstane, for blessings are rife; 
Hame is a heaven where aye intermingle 
Love an' affection o' bairnies an' wife. 

Dargin, Laboring 



SCENES OF TORE 

Play me a pibroch, piper, 

For I would wander again 
In fancy among the heather, 

Care- free in my native glen ; 
And I would follow a piper, 

Whose music I thought divine, 
When it rang o'er the braes, where the kyloe strays, 

In the lichtsome days lang syre. 

I can see the bens in a crimson haze, 

I can hear the sough of the linn ; 
And through the years comes Hashing back 

The rustle of fern and whin ; 
Oh ! sweet is the breath of tbe moorland ; 

There's a glamour in wimpling rills ; 
And the wayside joys, and harmless ploys. 

Are the glory of life in the hills. 

Kyloe, Small cow 



74 POEMS CY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

Would you see the vision before me? ' 

Would you hear the story told? ' 

Then picture a golden gloaming 

In a clachan quaint and old ; 
The hind is home from the hay field, 

The herd is home from the hill, 
And over the bent the news is sent — 

The piper is up from the mill. , 

They come from shieling and steading, i 

They hie to the mountain green, ( 
For the hill folk love the pibroch's sound, 

And a canty dance at e'en ; i 

Now "The Duke of Perth", now "Monymusk" | 

Rings out in the caller air; | 

And they reel and set, and their cares forget, J 

In the gladsome moments there. j 

Proudly he trod the greensward, j 

In plaid and bonnet arrayed, j 

And dear to my heart were the melodies J 

That wonderful piper played ; 1 

Oh ! the years cannot muffle his music, j 

With memories dear it teem? ; 
Time cannot efface from my heart's embrace 

The idyl that haunts my dreams. 

You may scorn their artless pleasures, 

You may laugh at their simple ways, ' 

But they kindle the fires of enduring love i 

And they hallow the upland braes. 
Play me another pibroch — 

A mirthful strain once more, i 

For my fancy's fain to be back again ^ 

In the cherished scenes of yore. ] 

Clachan, Small village Bent, Rough, rising ground 
Shieling, Hut Canty, Cheery Caller, Fresh 



MEMORY S HAUNTS 

GLENDEVOM 

Oh ! bonnie are thy tov/ering hills, 
Like fairyland thy dewy dells, 

Sweet is the murmer of the rills 
That trinkle o'er thy mossy fells ; 

From brake and heath, the gentle gale 

With sweetest fragrance fills thy vale. 

The flowering thorn, the yellow broom. 
Adorn the banks where Devon flows ; 

Amang thy hazel bowers aye blooni 
The fairest flowers that Nature grows ; 

No heather hath a brighter hue 

Than that on Innerdownie's broo. 

In Downhill shaws and leafy howes, 
The mavis and the lintie sing; 

And o'er Tormaukin's sunny knowes. 
The laverock soars on joyful wing; 

Tormangie's bent, when simmer smiles, 

The peeweep and the waup beguiles. 

The shepherd roams o'er bank and brae, 
The plowman plods thy fields amang ; 

Though hard they toil frae day to day, 
They lichten labour wi' their sang; 

How quiet and happy is their lot. 

Content in thee, secluded spot. 

Oh ! peaceful glen, enchanting vale. 
While rivers to the ocean rin 

May hairst and lambin' never fail, 
And thy mill wheel ne'er cease to spin ; 

And may thy hillsides never tine 

The fragrant birk, the waving pine. 

FeWs, Rocky, rising ground Howe, Hcllow Bent, Open field 
Peeweep, Lapwing Whaup, Curlew Hairst. Harvest Tine, Lose 



75 



76 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR | 

TO THE LINNET IN DOLLAR GLEN j 

Whistle, bonnie lintie, ] 

On the rowan tree; \ 

Warble, winsome birdie, ! 

Dear's thy sang tae me ; 

Mem'ries thou dost wauken ' 

In this heart o' mine; 

Whistle, bonnie lintie, '. 

For auld lang syne. i 

I 

Out upon the wide warld, i 

Far awa frae hame, ! 
Mony a year I've wandered, 

Seekin' gear an' fame ; , 

Whiles, there wad hing ower me, j 

Like a magic spell, 1 
Visions o' the hameland. 

Glints o' this fair dell. , 

Then, I heard a birdie : 

Singin' on a tree; i 

Then, I saw the love-licht ] 

In a guileless e'e; ' 

Then, I felt her heart-throb , 

On this breist o' mine; ■ 

She was breathing her love, 

Thou wert singin' thine. '• 

Bonnie, bljdihesome birdie, • 

Oh ! thy sang is sweet. 
Not a note o' sadness — 

Yet it gars me greet. 
Langer wad I linger ■ 

In the glen wi' thee ; 1 

But my love is waiting, "j 

Far across the sea. J 

~ 1 

Gars me greet. Makes me cry I 



memory's haunts jj 

DOLLAR GLEN 

Far, far from thee, my native glen, 

I wander on a foreign shoie ; 
Yet memory takes me back again 

Amang the haunts and scenes of yore; 
I roam once more through sunny glades, 
I sit and muse in hazel shades. 

The gowden broom, the fragrant brier, 

I see upon thy bonnie braes ; 
Thy wimpling burnie, caller, clear, 

Sings sangs to me o' ither days ; 
Thy fern-clad rock and mossy dell 
Of mony a gladsome hour can tell. 

But loved ones who were wont to stray 
Along thy rugged paths with me, 

From thee, fair glen, are called away, 
No more thy dashing linns they'll see; 

No more they'll hear the mavis' sang, 

And roam at will the brake amang. 

But such is life: a few short years 
Of hope and love, of toil and care, 

A little mirth, some bitter tears, 
And then depart, but where, ah ! where ? 

Whene'er my thoughts to thee return, 

The fires of joy and sorrow bum. 

Oh ! sweetest spot in Scotia's land. 
Oh ! fairy glen where mcles sing. 

Though wandering on a foreign strand 
To thee my heart will ever cling ; 

I'll cherish aye a love for thee. 

My native glen beyond the sea. 

Caller, Fresh Linn, tVaterfaW Merle. Blackbird 



78 POEMS BY GEORCE; SINCLAIR 



AMANG THE OCHIL5 

Far up amang the Ochil hills, 

Amang the bent an' heather, 
I tend my flocks frae day to day, 

In fair or stormy weather ; 
Though Boreas blaw, an' driftin snaw 

Fills every bught an' hollow, 
Nae odds I ask, my daily task 

Wi' lichtsome heart I follow. 

When simmer zephyrs fan the brae 

An' gowden broom is springin', 
I love to watch the lammies play, 

An' list the birdies singin'; 
An orra look in Nature's book 

The best o' lear I find aye, 
A conscience clear, there's nocht to fear, 

I try to bear in mind aye. 

I'm happy here amang the hills, 

Frae early morn till gloamin', 
Nae warldly care e'er fashes me, 

Amang the brackens roamin' ; 
Nae lord I ween gaes hame at e'en 

Tae mair invitin' ingle, 
Nae wifie's smiles an' bairnies' wiles 

Mair sweetly intermingle. ' 

The pleasures o' a city life j 

Could never me enamour, 
I wadna gie the crook an' plaid 1 

For a' its shows an' glamour ; 
The joys o' life are unco rife i 

Within my humble shielin', 1 

Then let me be, content an' free, 

The Ochils daily spielin*. j 



Bent, Roughs I'isiHg ground Buflht, Entlotuft Orca, Otcasional 
i^u, l«»PHiHg Fsih, rrcHt/i Snekcn, Ftm Splet. cumi 



memory's haunts ^^ 

SEASHORE SONGS 

I sat on the sands by the seashore, 

When the toil of the day was done ; 
For I love the golden glimmer, 

The sheen of the setting sun; 
The loved one sat beside me, 

Whose heart is enshrined in mine, 
My flower with its two sweet blossoms, 

My love that I woo'd lang syne. 

The murmuring of the ocean, 

And its ceaseless ebb and flow. 
Brought back to my memory visions, 

Sweet visions of long ago. 
Away o'er the white-capped billows, 

Away o'er the surging main, 
To the home and haunts of my childhood 

In fancy I wandered again. 

We strayed in the hush of the gloaming. 

Away from the city's din ; 
Where oft in life's springtime we trysted. 

Where the waves came rolling in ; 
It was there that our hearts were blended 

In a love that will never die, 
Our witness the sea before us, 

Above us the starlit sky. 

We wandered adown the green loaning, 

Where many a wild flower blows. 
Among scenes that will never vanish 

While a gleam of memory plows; 
I said, "Give me back the glamour 

Of two youthful lovers again, 
The joys and the careless pleasureia 

We tasted together then." 



POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

A shout and a roar of laughter 

Awakened my dreaming heart, 
And my cheeks felt the glow of affection 

That a bairnie's lips impart; 
I said, 'Xet youth with its gladness 

Leave memories hallowed and dear; 
True happiness only cometh 

When our bairnies' songs we hear." 



THE FLOWERS 



THi: Flowers 83 

WHERE THE WILD THISTLE GROWS 

Far away o'er the sea in my dreams 1 oft roam, 
To yon l)onnie green vale where the sweet Devon 
flows, 
To the heath-covered hills o' my dear native home. 
And the bricht, sunny banks where the wild thistle 
grows. 

'Mang the scenes o' my childhood I wander again. 
By the clear wimpling burnie and flower-spangled 
braes ; 

Ai:d 1 roam wi' delight through the depths o' the glen, 
And list to the mavis' an' lintie's sweet lays. 

A.nd I linger a while in the green, shady dell, 

Where the hawthorn and slae are blooming sae fine; 

Where the hazel and birk shade the bonnie blue beil, 
And the primroses blow, honeysuckles entwine. 

Oh! the joy of an hour on the old Brewer's Knowe, 
All alone and unseen 'mang the braw yellow broom; 

It v^as there in langsyne I made Annie a vow, 
To mak her my ain when the heather would bloom. 

There I smell the sweet fragrance o' bracken and brier. 
Wafted down through the valley frae woodland and 
hill ; 

And the cry o' the curlew and lapwing I hear, 
In the gloamin' when a' ither birdies are still. 

Many years hae I roamed where the goldenrod blows, 
And the gay-plumaged oriole chirps on the tree; 

But my heart's in the land where the wild heather 
grows, 
And the lark fills the air with his sweet melody. 



84 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

THE SNAWDRAP 

Springin' up amang the snaw, 
A' thy kindred sleepin' still, 
Fairest blossom o' them a', 
Snavvdrap, snawdrap. 

Carin' nocht for sleety shower, 

Noddin' modestly thy lane, 
Lichtin' up the darksome hour, 
Snawdrap, snawdrap. 

Harbinger o' comin' spring, 
Dreary winter drive awa, 
Thochts o' brichter seasons bring, 
Snawdrap, snawdrap. 

Gleam o' sunshine through the cloud 

Wauken a' thy neighbors noo. 
Draw aside the snawy shroud, 
Snawdrap, snawdrap. 

When the simmer sun doth shine. 

Sweeter-perfumed flower^^ts spring, 
Nane hae purer bloom than thine, 
Snawdrap, snawdrap. 

Sweetest gem in Nature's croon, 

Bonnie floweret, bide a wee, 
Dinna haste awa sae soon, 

Snawdrap, snawdrap. 

We will miss thy welcome smile, 
Short hath been thy visit here, 
But thou'st brichtened earth the while, 
Snawdrap, snawdrap. 

Come again anither year, 

Lovingly we'll watch for thee, 
'Neath the drift we'll aften peer, 
Snawdrap, snawdrap. 



THE FLOWERS 

TO A GOWAN 

Bonnie wee gowan, 

Queen o' the lea, 
Tell me wha tenderly 

Caretli for thee ; 
Smilin' sae sweetly, 

Modest an' pure, 
Tell me thy secret. 

Winsome wee floo'er. 

Angels frae heaven 

Planted me here, 
Nature tae gladden, . 

Mankind tae cheer; 
Dawnin' till gloamin', 

Biddin' me shine; 
Truly reflectin' 

Kindness divine. 

Dewdraps an' sunbeams, 

Caller an' clear, 
Daily they bring me. 

Year after year; 
Sae am I tended 

Here on the lea ; 
God in His goodness 

Careth for me. 

Bonnie wee gowan. 

Sparkle an' shine, 
Filling thy mission, 

Gracious, benign ; 
He wha sae tenderly 

Careth for thee — 
God in His mercy — 

Careth for me. 



Gowan, Scottish daisy 



86 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

SIMG ME A SAMG O' THE BENT AM' 
THE HEATHER 

Written for and read at the Celebration of 
St. Andre^^^'s Nicht, Albanj), 1910 

Sing me a sang o' the bent an' the heather, 

Paint me a picture o' hazel an' pine. 
Tell me a tale o' the bonnet an' feather, 
Play me a pibroch for auld lang syne. 
Back tae the moorland burns. 
Fondly my fancy turns, 
There's where my heart first knew love's fond embrace 
Visions of fairy dells 
Weave their bewitching spells, 
Memories so hallowed time ne'er can efface. 

Sweet was the sang of the lark in the morning. 

Soaring to heaven on dew-spangled wing; 
Fragrant the mantle the mountains adorning, 
Steeped in the incense of lichen an' ling. 
Roaming o'er bank an' lea, 
Nature enamoured me, 
Work was a pleasure, love lightened my way; 
Lithe was my footstep then. 
Spieling the lofty ben, 
Blissful the joys at the close of the day. 

Bent, Itocky, hilly ground Bum, Rivulet Spiel, Climb 



THE FLOWERS 87 

Canty the time when the upland folk mingle, 

Simple an' halesome the pleasures they ken ; 
Winter brings music an'mirth tae the ingle, 

Simmer brings gloamings an' trysts in the glen ; 
Many a happy scene 
Graces the mountain green, 
Spreading delight when the day's darg is by; 
Cranreuch, or sleety shower, 
Chills not the e'enin hour. 
Hill folk are blythe e'en when winter is nigh. 

Far hae I roamed frae the land of my fathers, 

Fortune hath smiled on me, friends have been true ; 
Kind is the circle at e'enin' that gathers. 
Waiting tae dower me wi' blessings anew; 

Still in the gloaming grey 

Memory delights tae stray 
Back on the banks of the river of Time, 

Crossing the moors again. 

Tramping my native glen. 
Wooing the past in a far awa clime. 

Ingle, Fireside Darg, Task Cranreuch, Hoarfrost 



88 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCI^AIR 

WELCOMING THE ARBUTUS 

I'm tired o' frost, I'm tired o' snaw, 
Tae me they bring nae joys ava; 
Awake ! caiild winter drive awa, 

Arbutus. 

The woods are a' sae bleak an' bare — 
I canna bide their cauldrife glare; 
Nae feathered minstrel warbles there, 

Arbutus. 

The brier is sleeping on the brae. 
The violet 'mang the frozen clay, 
Aneath the drift, anemone, 

Arbutus. 

Awake ! an' let thy gladsome smile 
The robin and the thrush beguile; 
Frae spring her rarest treasures wile, 

Arbutus. 

Tell bob-o-link tae sing his sang 
The saftly-budding bowers amang; 
Bid Nature a' her fountains fang. 

Arbutus. 

There may be blossoms that outshine 
The blooms that deck thy trailing vine ; 
There's nane can cheer the heart like thine' 

Arbutus. 

Aft will I seek the dewy dell 

Where woodland hymns in raptures swell, 

When thou has broken winter's spell, 

Arbutus. 

Fans. Optn 



THE FLOWERS 

Sweet flower of hope, thy mossy shrine 
For me its charm will never tine; 
Love lingers where thy tendrils twine, 

Arbutus. 



Tine, Lose. 



THE PRIMROSE 

Queen o' the wild flowers. 

Tender an' sweet, 
Thy coming, fair primrose, 

With pleasure we greet; 
Dreary auld winter 

Thou drivest awa', 
Bringing bricht sunshine 

For cranreuch an' snaw. 

In the shade o' the broom buss, 

Under the slae. 
In the lap o' the howe. 

On the breist o' the brae, 
Brightening the woodland. 

Sweetening the dell, 
Nae floweret sae bonnie, 

Sae dear as thy sel. 

Nature ordains thee 

Good tidings tae bring; 
Thou art the herald 

Proclaiming the spring. 
By thee are awakened, 

In meadow an' shaw, 
The rose on the brier buss, 

The bloom on the haw. 

Cranreuch. Hoarfrost 



POEMS BY GEORGi: SINCEAIR 

Thou tellest the laverock, 

Sae blythesome an' gay, 
Far up in the blue lift 

Tae warble his lay ; 
An' mavis an' blackbird 

On hazel an' thorn, 
Tae sing their glad anthems 

At dawning of morn. 

Charming enchantress, 

Bewitching an' coy, 
Thou fillest our bosoms 

With feelings of joy; 
An' callest the children 

Tae dingle an' den, 
Tae gather the jewels 

That spangle the glen. 

We long for thy coming. 

Oh ! linger a while ; 
There's health in thy fragrance. 

There's love in thy smile ; 
Nae bloom in the valley 

Sae winsome as thine, 
Thou blossom from Eden, 

Thou treasure divine. 



THE ^LOWERS 9» 

TO A DAISY FROM BURNS'S GRAVE 

Received in a letter from Jean Armour Burns Brown, 
great-grand-daugKter of the Poet, Ma^, 1906 

Hail! bonnie gem from o'er the sea, 
Sweet floweret from my native land, 

What message dost thou bring to me, 
Far from old Scotia's rugged strand? 

Dost thou some sweet remembrance bring 

Of bank and lea where gowans spring? 

Didst thou once bloom in you fair vale 
Where winding Devon gently glides? 

Hast thou been fanned by fragrant gale 
That summer blows o'er Ochil's sides? 

Wee, modest, blushing stranger, tell 

Why thou hast braved the ocean's swell. 

Fair are the flowers on Devon's side, 
And pure the breeze where Ochils rise; 

But where Nith's sparkling waters glide, 
The sacred dust of Robin lies. 

Around the poet's hallowed tomb, 

The flowers he loved in beauty bloom. 

Among my kin I blossomed there. 
Where tender hearts their love unfold, 

And deck the turf on Robin's lair 
With gowan gems of white and gold. 

Thence have I come to bring to thee 

A keepsake in his memory. 

Beloved flower! for thee there's room 
Within this humble heart of mine ; 

Though time may fade the bonnie bloom, 
I'll cherish thee for auld lang syne. 

And oft as memory homeward turns, 

I'll drop a tear for Robert Burns. 



92 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

GOWD ON THE BROOM 

The gowd is on the broom, love, 

The siller's on the slae; 
The woodlands are abloom, love, 

Wi' a' the flowers o' May. 
Come awa wi' me, my dearie. 

There's joy awaiting thee; 
There's sweet content amang the bent, 

In the shadow o' Ben Shee. 

The heron haunts the streams, love, 

Where sylvan shadows lie ; 
The lordly eagle screams, love. 

Where pines are waving high ; 
There's music in the dingle 

Where feathered lovers woo ; 
There's aye a sang the brake amang. 

An anthem in the blue. 

The rippling o' the rills, love, 

The glamour o' the glen. 
The freedom o' the hills, love, 

The town will never ken. 
Come awa wi' me, my darling. 

Leave a' the din behind; 
There's little strife where love is rife. 

An' hearts are leal an' kind. 

There's a shieling in the glen, love. 

An' thou shalt be its queen ; 
There's a pathway round the ben, love, 

Where we will roam at e'en ; 
There's fragrance on the muirland. 

There's sweetness on the lea ; 
When thou art there, an Eden fair 

The glen will ever be. 



THE FLOWERS 93 

THE THISTLE • 

On the bleakest o' muirs, on the steepest o' bens, \ 

On the greenest o' knowes, in the fairest o' glens, i 

There's a flower that aye springs, ane that a'body kens, 
It's the sturdy auld thistle o' Scotland; 

The bonnie green thistle. 

The purple-flowered thistle, 

The downy-tapp'd thistle o' Scotland. 

When the Norsemen sae bauld in their galleys fu' braw, 
in the days o' lang syne gaed oor country a ca', 
They gat sic a fleg that they a' ran awa 
Frae the sturdy auld thistle o' Scotland ; 

The bonnie green thistle. 

The purple-flowered thistle, 

The downy-tapp'd thistle o' Scotland. 

When the Sassenach king wi' his legions cam doon, 
An' swore he wad tak frae King Robert his croon, j 

On the banks o' the Bannock, Bruce fleggit the loon < 

Wi' the sturdy auld thistle o' Scotland; 

The bonnie green thistle. 

The purple-flowered thistle. 

The downy-tapp'd thistle o' Scotland. 

It's an emblem o' liberty, touch it wha daur; 

/It's an angel in peace, but a deevil in war; ' 

An' there's mony a fae that has gotten a scaur , 

Frae the sturdy auld thistle o' Scotland; i 

The bonnie green thistle, I 

The purple-flowered thistle, j 

The downy-tapp'd thistle o' Scotland. i 

Fleg, Fright Fleggit the loon. Frightened the rogue 



94 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

At hanie or afar then, whatirever we be, 
This nicht let us smg tae the land o' the free; 
May that flower ever flourish on muirland an' lea, 
The sturdy auld thistle o' Scotland; 
The bonnie green thistle, 
The purple-flowered thistle. 
The downy-tapp'd thistle o' Scotland. 



A SPRIG OF HEATHER 

Conveying congratulations and test wishes to Peter and Annie 1 

Kinnear on the Sixtieth Anniversary of their | 

Wedding, Sept. ii, 1909 \ 

I 
Child of the moorland! honey-laden bloom, j 

That once breathed fragrance o'er a Scottish plain ! j 

Go forth this day, and let thy sweet perfume \ 

Awaken sunny memories again. " 

Recall the joys two youthful lovers knew, 1 

Ere yet they bade their native land adieu. ; 

The heather hill, the rose-embowe^'ed howe, ! 

The gowan lea, the primrose-scented dell, i 

The whinny brae, the broom-encircled knowe, '', 

The birken shaw, the lichen-covered fell, 

Around these scenes where memory loves to dwell, \ 

Thou fair enchantress ! weave thy magic spell. \ 

i 
The morning zephyr from the moorland dips j 

The fragrant balm thy purple blossom yields ; | 

But fancy from thy petals fondly sips 1 

A rarer treat — the charm thy presence wields. 1 

Go, then, fair flower, let memories o' lang syne .; 

Around two hearts sweet benisons entwine. 



the; I'LowErs 95 

Their hearts have known life's sorrows and its tears; 

Their home been blessed with filial happiness. 
May their companionship of sixty years 

Be crowned with garlands of unfading bliss. 
And may the golden gloaming of their days 
Be mellowed with love's tenderest, purest rays. 

Revered and loved by all who know their hearts, 
Esteemed and honored wheresoe'er they go, 

Theirs be the blessedness true love imparts ; 
Theirs be the perfect peace the faithful know. 

May health and happiness with them abide ; 

Heaven be their friend, their comforter, and guide. 



SATIRE AND HUMOR 



SATIRE AND HUMOR 99 

THE GREAT GTMKHAMA 

TKe roues of tKe Stewart restoration of the Se-\>enteentK Cen- 
tury, sated vJith the sensualities of court life, sigKed for a new 
pleasure. The idle rich of our city females, at their summer resorts, 
have made this discover^. 

Have you heard of the great Gymkhana 

That was held in Lenox town, 
The Mecca of Society, 

A place of great renown, 
In good old Massachusetts, 

The home of wealth and power. 
The State where light and learning 

Their greatest blessings shower? 

Come, listen to the story^ 

The Press dec!lared 'twas so — 
That lately o'er in Lenox town 

There was a glorious show ; 
A great and grand Gymkhana — 

Take notice of the name — 
And the noblest ladies of the land 

Went forth in search of fame. 

The prancing steed was absent, 

No autocar was there; 
Such sport was all too vulgar 

To cater to the fair ; 
From barn yard and from sow pen 

The ladies brought their pets, 
Attired in silks of rarest weave 

That India's loom bei?et8i 



POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

Some pigs were dressed in scarlet, 

And some were dressed in blue ; 
Geese, turke3^s, sheep and roosters 

Appeared in every hue; 
And never did that race course 

Present so gay a scene; 
And never was such sport enjoyed 

Upon that village green. 

The race historic Ascot 

Its equal ne'er beheld; 
As goose, or pig, or rooster led. 

Its mistress fairly yelled, 
"Go on, my piggy-wiggles" ; 

"Bravo, my duck, get up" ; 
"Ha, ha, my old goose leads the way, 

He takes the silver cup." 

Let Scotland boast of golfing, 

Old England bat and ball, 
Let Ireland boast of hurling, 

Gymkhana beats them all ; 
So shouted all the ladies 

Upon the field that day, 
As they fondled and caressed their pets 

In the real society way. 

In many a stately mansion 

In Lenox town that night, 
The noble sport was lauded 

The acme of delight ; 
And gentlemen and ladies, 

With cigarettes and wine, 
In sporting fashion toasted 

Ducks, roosters, gtese and swine, 



SATIRE AND HUMOR lor 

THE BOTTLE AND THE MALLET 

At the banquet of the Troy Burns Club on Jan. 26, 1906, the 
President, Chas. Duncan, ha^)ing occasion to call the assemblage to 
order and not having a gavel, used a bottle instead. This so amused 
Peter Kinnear and Allan Gilmour, guests from Albany, that they 
had a gavel made especially? for the Club. The Secretary was 
directed to return thanks for the gift, and did so in the following verses : 

'Twas on the glorious twenty-fifth 

O' Januar', 1906, man — 
The nicht o' a' nichts in the year, 

When a' the nations mix, man, 
We met aroond the festal board. 

Ilk heart wi' love a-throbbin', 
Tae honour Scotland's dearest son — 

The world's beloved Robin. 

Auld Scotland's ''Lion", an' "Banner Blue", 

Entwined aroond "Auld Glory", 
Inspired the singer in his sang. 

The speaker in his story ; 
The piper thrilled ilk Scottish heart 

Wi' pibrochs, reels, an' a', man ; 
An' kilted laddies danced a fiing, 

The like o't nane e'er saw, man. 

Oh ! sic a nicht o' heartfelt joy, 

Guid fellowship an' pleasure, 
Was never seen in Troy I ween, 

In sic abundant measure ; 
The e'enin' hours passed sweetly by, 

For ilk ane was your brither; 
The dulcet strains o' Scotia's lyre 

Had knit oor hearts thegither. 

Ilk, Each. 



IQ2 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

"But pleasures are like poppies spread," 

The nicht was growin' auld, man, 
When up cor worthy Chief arose — 

Than he there's nane mair bauld, man ; 
His gavel, ah! nae gavel there, 

Tae bring us a' tae order; 
'Twas like the bride o' Hazeldean, 

Lang syne that crossed the border. 

A bottle ! "Happy thocht," quo' he. 

An' raxed his hand an' grasped itj 
But sair forebodings filled oor hearts, 

As in his nieve he clasped it, 
An' rappit on that board sae hard, 

For he has muckle vim, man; 
We little dreamt the Chieftain kent 

Fu' brawly it was toom, man. 

Our honoured guests frae Albany 

Gaed hame that nicht fu' happy; 
But aye the owercome o' their crack 

Was Duncan an' the drappie; 
For like oorsels they gat a fleg, 

They thocht the bottle fu', man ; 
An' ilka rap micht be the knell 

O' Mackie's mountain dew, man. 

Quoth worthy Allan tae his frien', 

"They want a mell, I'm thinkin' ; 
A bottle's no a canny thing — 

It winna stand sic clinkin'." 
"I'll mak a mell for Robin's sake," 

Quoth Peter tae his cronie; 
"His name shall be inscribed upon't, 

In letters bold an' bonnie." 

Nieve, Fist Fleg, Fright Ilka, Each Mell, Mallet Cronie, Comrade 



SATIRE AND HUMOR 103 

The braw new gavel cam tae Troy, 

An' ilka Scot was happy; 
"Nae bottles noo", oor Chieftain cried, 

"Let them be kept for nappy." 
We hereby send oor hearty thanks 

Tae chiels we'll aye revere, man ; 
For truer Scots we never met 

Than Gilmoiir an' Kinnear, man. 



THE GRASSHOPPER'S WARKflKfG 

A grasshopper cam tae an emikie's door, 

When the weather was cauld an' dreary; 
His green wings dreepin' wi' cauld, cauld hoar. 

An' the puir body lookin' sae weary; 
He rappit, an' rappit, an' rappit again, 
When a shrill voice cried frae a neuk far ben — 
"What's a' this din? I wad e'en like tae ken. 
An' the weather sae cauld an' dreary." 

"I'm a puir grasshopper baith hungry an' dune. 

An' oh, but the weather is dreary ; 
Tak peety on me an' welcome me in. 

For I'm unco forfairn an' eerie; 
The hillside is bleak, an' the meadow is bare, 
There's frost in the wind, an' there's snaw in the air. 
Your awmrie is fu', ye hae plenty tae spare, 

Though the weather be cauld an' dreary." 

Neuk, Nook Forfairn, Forlorn. Eerie, Timorous. Awmrie, Almonry. 



I04 POEMS BY GKORGE SINCLAIR 

"Auld freen, when the meadows were bonnie an' green, 
An' the weather was hchtsome an' cheery, 

I toiled ilka day that baith cozy an' bein 
I micht be when the weather grew dreary ; 

Contented an' happy though Boreas blaw, 

I carena a preen for the frost or the snaw ; 

But aiblins, green wing, ye did naething ava, 
When the weather was lichtsome an' cheery." 

" 'Mang the gowans an' broom in the lang simmer days, 

There was nane that was ever sae cheery ; 
I ne'er had a thocht when I sang on the braes. 

That the weather wad ever be dreary; 
Sae I sang in the mornin', I sang at the noon, 
I was singin' awa' when the gloamin' cam roun', 
I hadna a thocht o' e'er changin' my tune. 
For my heart was sae lichtsome an' cheery." 

"Weel, freen', sin ye say ye did naething but sing. 

When the weather was lichtsome an' cheery ; 
Juist alter your plan, an' try a bit spring. 
When the weather is cauld an' dreary; 
Gae dance in the mornin', an' dance at the noon, 
An' dance if ye like till the gloamin' comes roun'. 
When ye're tired, try a lilt o' your auld simmer tune, 
When the weather is cauld an' dreary." 

Bein, Well-off. Aiblins. Perhaps. 



SATIRE AND HUMOR 105 

RORT THE PIPER 

Aula Scotland's sons in Troy toun 

Tae honour Robin met; 
For Robin's name, an' Robin's fame, 

Nae Scot can e'er forget. 
The nicht was cauld, but what o' that, 

They cared na for the weather; 
An' canty were they, ane an' a', 

Thae true sons o' the heather. 

Braw lads were there frae bonnie Doon, 

An' loonies frae the Spey; 
An' wabster chiels frae Ettrick dale, 

An' callants frae the Tay; 
Frae far-ofif Ross, frae wild Argyle, 

Frae Stirling an' the Forth, man, 
They cam frae every Scottish shire, 

East, West, an' South an' North, man. 

The Haggis, glorious, reekin het, 

Oor Adam had extolled; 
When lo ! across the banquet ha', 

The sound o' music rolled; 
Ilk Scottish he'rt was filled wi' Joy, 

It was a piper comin'; 
Wad he be clad in philabeg, 

Wha kept his pipe drones bummin' ? 

Sweet visions o' the garb o' Gaul, 

The plaid an' bonnet blue. 
Arose in every Trojan's mind, 

For Trojan Scots are true; 
The skirlin' near an' nearer cam. 

At last in rags an' glory 
Amang the astonished Trojans- strode 

Albanian Hieland Rory. 



io6 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

Nae kilted lad frae Scottish heath, 

A beardless, toozie loon, 
Mair like a sweep than piper lad 

Frae ony Scottish toun; 
He shauchled roond aboot the flair, 

He blew wi' micht an' main ; 
"Gae 'wa', gae wa'," ilk Trojan cried, 

"An' come na back again." 

Tae mak the body stop his din, 

Fu' mony an' art was tried; 
But Rory was a stubborn chiel, 

An' wad na be denied. 
Oor President took up the p'ea. 

Beguiled the wily ranter; 
Sae fu' o' haggis stuffed his wame 

He could na blaw his chanter. 

Tae launder Rory was proposed. 

This nettled Rory's pride; 
"I'll hie me back tae Albany," 

The indignant carle cried ; 
Awa' gaed Rory, pipes an' a'. 

As mad as ony viper; 
He cried "Ye'll rue affrontin' me, 

The great Albanian piper." 

Sae, brither Scots o' Albany, 

Your piper was returned. 
Just as we gat him, unco black, 

The wash tub he had spurned. 
Accept oor thanks for what you sent, 

Nae doot wi' kind intention ; 
Your richt guid will^ an' fellowship, 

It pleases us tae mention. 



SENTIMENT 



SENTIMENT 109 

A TRYST 



Wilt thou tryst wi' me, lassie, 

When the gloaming fa's ; 
Whaur the burnie rows^ lassie, 
Through the hazel shaws? 
I will wait for thee, love. 

In the fairy dell, 
When the robin sleeps, love, 

When my heart can tell 
A' its fondest secrets, 

A' its love for thee, 
When the robin sleeps, love, 

Wilt thou tryst wi' me? 

When the starnies shine, lassie, 

That's the time tae woo ; 
Then I'll prove tae thee, lassie, 

That my love is true. 
In my plaid at e'en, love, 

Roaming through the glen. 
That thy heart is mine, love, 

Thou canst tell me then. 
When the robin sleeps, love. 
When the starnies shine, 
Heart in heart we'll bind, love. 

With a tie divine. 



Tryst. Agree to Meet. 



no POEMS BY GEORGE SINCEAIR 

MY SHIELING 

Though sma' be my shieling an' kent na tae fame, 
There's joy an' contentment an' a' in my hame; 
My ingle blinks blythely on couthie hearthstane, 
An' whene'er I sit doun a' my troubles are gane. 

The bairnies come roond me a' dancin' wi' glee, 
An' their lauchter an' din is sweet music tae me; 
They're the heart o' the hame an' the sunshine o' life, 
An' that hame is a heaven whaur bairnies are rife. 

When I roam through the heather an' spiel the steep 

ben. 
An' grow unco weary, a solace I ken — 
.1 sit 'mang the brackens an' muse for a while. 
An' the thochts o' my shieling aye lichten my toil. 

When mirk is the nicht an' the wind blawin' cauld, 
An' my yowes an' my wethers are safe i' the fauld, 
As I come up the loaning what sign dae I see? 
A licht in my shieling aye shining for me. 

Oh ! leal is the heart o' that wifie o' mine, 
The lassie I woo'd by the seashore lang syne; 
Her sang in the mornin' inspires me anew, 
{In the e'enin' her smile's like a drappie o' dew. 

The seasons may change frae the spring tae the fa', 
Frae halo o' sunshine tae mantle o' snaw ; 
Contentment an' true love, oh ! treasures divine, 
Will mak it aye simmer in shieling o' mine. 

Cemhif, Klndh 9pl«l, GUmi Mtrk, Outh 



SENTIMENT III 

A PASTORAL MUSE 

No lang sin syne, ae cauld March day, 
When coming through the dreich Glenquey, 
A wee bit lammie by the way 

Was greetin' sair; 
Near by, its mither Hfeless lay 

In bluidy lair. 

Dark, threatenin' clouds aboon were hingin'. 
The wind was whustlin' roond Craiginnan, 
An' yowie her wee lamb was bringin'. 

In cozie dell; 
But while across the wild rocks rinnin', 

The mither fell. 

Oh, dinna greet, my bonnie lammie, 

Nae mair thou'lt cuddle wi' thy mammie. 

An' drink at e'en thy wee bit drammie, 

On hillside cauld; 
But shepherd kind will guide thee cannie 

To his ain fauld. 

An' therewithin his humble wa's, 
Secure frae ilka storm that blaws, 
His wife, fulfilling Nature's laws, 

Will care for thee, 
Frae early morn till e'enin' fa's, 

Wi' watchfu' e'e. 

The bairns wi' thee will gladly share, 
At ilka diet, their simple fare ; 
An' honest collie's tender care 

Will be thy shield; 
The wily tod thou'lt fear nae mair, 
_ In hoose or field. 

Dttiih, Ttdiiut Gwkiii*,ff'$ipiHi Q\i^\9, Lit i9mUy l\\M,E»th Ted, Fpm 



112 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

When gloamin' shadows hover roun', 
Then, lammie, thou canst cuddle doun, 
On wisp o' strae or brackens broon, 

By collie's side; 
An' kindly bairns will straik thy croon, 

Wi' unco pride. 

In lowly cot on mountain side, 
Aft times the noblest souls abide; 
Their acts o' mercy they will hide 

Frae warldly ken; 
Their wark weel dune is a' their pride, 

They're happy then. 

Oh, nobler wark was never dune. 
Than bringin' helpless orphans in. 
An' makin' life's wheel smoother rin 

For a' oppressed; 
Sic herds will rest, when a' is dune, 

Amang the blest. 

Cuddle, Lie coxily Brackens, Fern Straik, Stroke 



SENTIMENT 113 

MY AIM HEARTHSTAME 

1 hae roamed at the fa' o' the gloaming, 

In the fairest o' Scotia's glens ; 
I hae seen the dawn's first sunbeams kiss 

The heath on her grandest bens ; 
But the ben in its purple glory, 

An' the glen in its gowden sheen, 
They haena the kindly, blythesome blink 

O' my ain hearthstane at e'en. 

I hae seen in their springtime freshness 

Columbia's emerald vales ; 
An' her woodlands decked in the gayest robes 

E'er rustled by autumn's gales ; 
They hae coosten a glamour ower me, 

But it raptured my een alane ; 
They haena the sweet, inspiring glow 

That shines on my ain hearthstane. 

I hae lain on the moors enraptured 

Wi' the laverock's melting sang ; 
An' the bobolink's lay has ravished my ear, 

The maples an' sumachs amang ; 
But the music o' moor or woodland, 

However enchanting the strain. 
It never can mak my heart-strings dirl 

Like the sangs o' my ain hearthstane. 

I hae trodden the paths o' pleasure, 

I hae sipped f rae the bowl o' cheer ; 
But the hinnied sweets the warld bestows 

Are but for a season dear; 
Oh! this is life's greatest blessing: 

The affection o' wife an' wean; 
It's the heart an' soul in the fireside joys 

That hallow my ain hearthstane. 



114 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

COMTENTIT Wr YER LOT 

When strivin' hard frae day tae day, 
Tae spiel life's unco slippery brae. 

We aftentimes may stumble: 
Our burdens may be hard tae bear, 
O' sorrows we may hae our share, 
But yet we needna grumble. 

Though whiles the sun we dinna see, 

Ahint the clouds he's shinin' ; 
Sae let us ever cheerfu' be, 
Awa wi' dour repinin'. 

Let's try aye, how high aye. 

We honestly can win ; 
An' measure wi' pleasure 
The guid that we hae dune. 

We may be puir in warldly guids, 
Eat simple fare, wear clooted duds. 

Our purses seldom jingle; 
Yet happiness can mak her hanie 
Whaur true love burns wi' steady flame 
An' lichtens up the ingle ; 

An' mirth an' glee may flow as free 

Aroond a puir man's board. 
He can as independent be 
As ony titled lord. 
Wi' licht heart, the richt pairt 

Let's ever try tae dae ; 
Fear nae man, but aye plan, 
The straichtest wie tae gae. 

Spiel, Climb Dour. Obttinau 



SENTIMENT 115 

The dews o' heaven as saftly fa', 
The westlin' winds as gently blaw, 

In puir man's yaird as ony; 
The birdies there as sweetly sing, 
The ivy an' the woodbine cling, 
The roses bloom as bonny. 

"Oh, happy is that man an' blest" 

Wham envy never fashes ; 
Wha thinks his ain wee hoose the best. 
Though theekit ewer wi' rashes; 
Howe'er puir, it's hame there, 

Wi' a' its charm an' joy; 
Endearing an' cheering. 
An' free frae a' alloy. 

Fash, Annoy Theekit, Thatched 



Ii6 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCEAIR 

NEARIN' HAME 

Wee pussie baudrons, 

On the hearthstane, 
Oh ! but ye are canty, 

Purrin' a' yer lane; 
Naething seems tae fash thee — 

Aye sae prim an' douce; 
Hech ! but I wad miss thee, 

In this lanesome hoose. 

Ance I was as canty, 

Ne'er a thocht o' care ; 
Bairnies playin' roond me. 

Sunshine everywhere ; 
My gudeman was happy 

Spielin' ower the braes ; 
Toilin' for our comfort, 

In thae Hchtsome days. 

Ah ! but time has changed a', 

Noo I'm unco frail ; 
Johnnie's Jocks are snaw-like. 

His step begins tae fail ; 
A' the bairns hae wandered, 

Seekin' gear an' fame ; 
An' oh ! I lang tae see them, 

Ere John an' I gang hame. 

Roond this couthie ingle, 
Siccan joys I've seen; 

Life has been an Eden, 
A pasture ever green ; 

An' as we toddle hamewards. 
An' frail an' frailer grow. 

Our hearts cling close an' closer, 
Love burns wi' brichter lowe. 

Canty, Merry Fash, Trouble Douce, Sober Spielin, Climbing 



SENTIMENT 117 

TAE NELLIE'S DELL 

Oh ! come wi' me tae Nellie's dell, 
Tae Nellie's dell, tae Nellie's dell, 
Oh ! come wi' me tae Nellie's dell, 

When daylicht weds the gloaming; 
The heather tints are rarest then. 
The siller .birks are fairest then, 
A stream o' glory floods the glen, 

When daylicht weds the gloaming. 

We'll wander by the burnie's side, 
The burnie's side, the burnie's side, 
We'll wander by the burnie's side, 

When daylicht weds the gloaming; 
Oh ! winsome are its dimples then. 
Melodiously it wimples then, 
The sweetest music fills the glen, 

When daylicht weds the gloaming. 

We'll sit aneath the rowan tree. 
The rowan tree, the rowan tree, 
We'll sit aneath the rowan tree, 

When daylicht weds the gloaming; 
Thy smile tae me is dearest then. 
Thy heart tae mine is nearest then. 
With thee, 'tis Eden in the glen. 

When daylicht weds the gloaming. 



"8 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCEAIR 

MY FIRESIDE 

In winter time, when snell winds blaw, 
An' a' the hills are smoored in snaw, 
An' cranreuch cauld gars ane an' a' 

The fireside seek ; 
Oh ! that's the happiest place of a', 

The chimla cheek. 

My ain guid wifie greets me there, 
Wi' cheery smile an' blythesome air ; 
My Johnnie, rinnin' through the flsir, 

Maks muckle din ; 
His bits o' toys he wants nae mair, 

When faither's in. 

Noo, bairnie, get yer faither's shoon, 
Pu' aft" his buits ; come, haste ye, rin ; 
His feet are cauld wi' frosty win' 

That's blawin' sair; 
Noo get yer bowl an' horn spune. 

An' yer wee chair. 

The parritch pat is reamin' fu', 

An' mither will fill the bowl for you ; 

Wi' a jugfu' milk fresh frae the coo, 

Hech, man, sic fare ! 
The best o' food to carry ye through 

This warld o' care. 

Noo, come on faither's knee a while, 
An' drive awa his thochts o' toil ; 
Yer mirthfu' glee, yer pawky smile, 

Hae charms for me ; 
Nane can a weary hour beguile 
Compared wi' thee. 

Cranreuch, Hoarfrost Chimla, Chimney Pawky, Cunning 



SENTIMENT 119 

But noo, the time is drawin' rotin' 
When bairnies should be sleepin' soun' ; 
Sae, Johnnie, ye maun cuddle doon 

In yer wee bed ; 
But first we'll thank the Lord aboon 

For this day's bread. 

Oh ! happy hame, Oh ! dear fireside, 
Whaur sweet content an' true love bide. 
An' God aboon is aye the guide, 

Praised be His name; 
The e'enin' hours serenely glide 

In sic a hame. 

Cuddle doon. Slip coxily 



WHEN I COME HAME AT E'EM 

When I come hame at e'en, my love, 
When I come hame at e'en, 

What maks my heart sae licht an' gay. 
When I come hame at e'en? 

What lichtens up my ingleside. 

An' maks the hours serenely glide ; 

What bids my heart in thine confide, 
When I come hame at e'en? 

When I come hame at e'en, my love. 

When I come hame at e'en, 
I ken what maks my heart sae gay. 

When I come hame at e'en ; 
The love licht in thine een sae blue. 
The smile that plays aroond thy mou, 
Tell me my love is kind an' true. 

When I come hame at e'en. 



i20 POEMS BY GEORGE SINCEAIR , 

COME AWA TAE THE HILLS WI' ME : 

Come awa tae the hills wi' me, love, 

Come awa frae the city's din; 

Let us spend our days on the upland braes, j 

Whaur the lammies an' maukins rin ; j 

Whaur the mountain corrie wimples, | 

An' the purple heather springs, '• 

Whaur the whaup soars high, an' the peeweeps cry. i 

An' the lark in the blue lift sings. 

There is health in the mountain breeze, love, i 

There is joy in a life sae free; ■ 

There's a sweet content 'mang the gowden bent, \ 

That the city can never gie. j 
There's a love that throbs in my bosom, 

An' it seeks na a love but thine; | 

It will aye be true tae the lass I loe \ 

When she's queen in yon shieling o' mine. | 

Maukin, Hare. Corrie, Hollow. Whaup, Curlew. Peeweep, Lapwing. ] 
Bent, Open field. 



SENTIMENT 121 

THE HAMELESS LADDIE 

A wee bit hameless laddie, 

Wi' a toozie, flaxen croon. 

Was playin' in the syver, 

In an ancient Scottish toun; 

Near by in wild carousin' 

A gang^ o' tinklers lay, 

But ne'er a ane looked near the wean — 

He was left alane to play. 

He made a muckle dammin', 
An' ca'd it his ain sea. 
An' there his little boatie 
He sailed wi' childish glee; 
Though hungry, cauld, an' raggit, 
He was happy whiles for a'; 
But oh ! the bairn was sair forfairn, 
An' had nae frien' ava. 

The sun was shinin' brichtly. 

But the air was unco cauld; 

Aboon the north horizon 

'Stood up, like mountains bauld. 

Great clouds in snawy whiteness, 

Forebodin' comin' storm; 

But the tinklers boosed an' ne'er jaloused 

The sicht they'd see the morn. 

A hungry lookin' messan 

Cam' hirplin' o'er the street, ^ 

An' lay beside the laddie, ] 

An' lap'd his wee cauld feet ; j 

He straiked the doggie fondly, j 

For a kindly heart had he; 1 

An' mony an e'en the twa were seen, ! 
Bedmates aneath some tree. 

Syver, Sewer Forfairn, Forlorn Jaloused, Susfected 



POEMS BY GEORGE SINCLAIR 

The wind began to flutter, 
When the sun was sinkin' doun ; 
The snawy clouds drew closer, 
An' gar'd the tinklers froon ; 
Umbrellas, tins an' trump'ry 
They gathered up wi' care, 
An' aff they ran, the roamin' clan. 
To seek a warmer lair. 

The nicht was cauld an' stormy. 

The wind was dour an' snell, 

The snaw was driftin' wildly 

O'er muir an' bank an' fell; 

They crept th'gither closer. 

The tinklers an' their bairns, 

But the orphan wean he lay his lane, 

Wi' the doggie in his airms. 

The storm had spent its fury, 

An' the snaw^ had ceased to fa', 

The mune was shinin' bonnie. 

An' the wind had ceased to blaw ; 

The faintest moan was wafted 

On the clear an' frosty air. 

An' the bairn was ta'en to the happy hame, 

A hameless waif nae mair. 

A wee bit hole was howkit 

In the auld kirkyaird that day ; 

A wee black box was stappit 

Amang the frozen clay ; 

Nae tears o' sorrow drappit, 

Forgot was a' ere e'en. 

But lingerin' there an' scrapin' sair. 

The faithfu' dog was seen. 



SENTIMENT 



123 



Oh! puir negleckit bairnie, 

Thy troubles a' are dune, 

Thou'rt noo whaur cauld an' poortith 

Can never venture in; 

There's nae respect o' persons, 

In that happy promised land ; 

For rich an' puir are equals there, 

On that bonnie gowden strand. 



WHEN I GANG TAE THE HILL 



When I gang tae the hill, my love. 

When I gang tae the hill. 
What maks me step sae blythe an' free, 

When I gang tae the hill? 
What gars me spiel through brake an' shaw, 
In simmer's sun or winter's snaw. 
An' keeps a' weary thochts aw a, 

When I gang tae the hill 

When I gang tae the hill, my love, 

When I gang tae the hill, 
I ken what maks me step sae free. 

When I gang tae the hill ; 
Within my shieling on the brae. 
For me thou'rt toiling a' the day; 
Thy love's the charm that cheers my way. 

When I gang tae the hill. 

Gar, Makes Spiel, Climb 



SACRED 



1 

SACRED 127 

•! 
THE PATH OF LIFE 

An Address to the BrotKerKood 

As you journey along on the highway of hfe, 

Be strong, young man, be strong ; 
The way is beset with sorrow and strife. 

Be strong, young man, be strong. 
There's a by-path here, and a by-path there, 

Where the weak beheve they can banish care : j 

Turn not aside, of the danger beware, 

Be strong, young man, be strong. 

There is many a fight to be fought and won, 

Be brave, young man, be brave; i 

There is many a noble deed to be done. 

Be brave, young man, be brave, 1 

When the tempter enticeth with glittering art. I 

From the pathway of virtue oh never depart; I 

From the right never swerve, but be fearless of heart, ' 

Be brave, young man, be brave. 

Lend your sinking brother a helping hand. 

Be kind, young man, be kind ; 1 

Stanch ships are wrecked within sight of land. ; 

Be kind, young man, be kind. j 

A kindly word in a gladsome way 
Js a blink of sun on a darksome day; 
In your heart let charity hold the sway, , 

Be kind, young man, be kind. 

Have a conscience clear, and a heart sincere, _\ 

Be true, young man, be true ; ] 

Let your aim be high, hold your honour dear. \ 

Be true, young man, be true. | 

Come weal, come woe, have a tranquil mind. j 

As 3^ou journey along, leave worry behind; | 

Be strong, be brave, above all be kind, | 

Be true, young man, be true. 



128 POEMS BY GEORGIv SINCI^AIR 

DAVID AKfD GOLIATH 

Little children, come and listen 

To this tale of long ago, 
Of the shepherd boy of Judah, 

How he laid the giant low. 

Philistines with mighty army 
Had invaded Israel's realm; 

And their armored legions threatened 
That fair land to overwhelm. 

Great Goliath, fierce and boastful, 
Spread dismay o'er all the land ; 

No one would the conflict enter, 
With that champion hand to hand. 

Day by day rang out his challenge — 

"Israel's armies I defy" ; 
Saul and all his warriors trembled, 
' When they heard that vaunting cry. 

But there came a lad undaunted, 
One who feared not any foe — 

Tender-hearted, trustful David — 

He would strike the conquering blow. 

Day by day, his flocks attending, 
Bethlehem's sunny slopes he trod; 

Growing strong in mind and stature, 
Strong in faith, and love of God. 

When he saw the giant walking 
To and fro across the dale, 

David cried, "If God be with us, 
'Who against us can prevail?" 



SACRED I2g 

Running to the brook of Elah, 
Five small stones he picked with care ; 

Sword and armor he had neither, 
Staff and sling were all he bare. 

Like an arrow straight, unerring, 

Through the air a pebble sped ; 
Like a bolt of heaven crashing 

Through the mocker's haughty head. 

Oh ! Goliath, mighty giant, 

Vain is all thy boasting now ; 
All thy strength, and all thine armor. 

Could not shield thy scornful brow. 

Men of Lsrael, fired with courage, 

Charged the foe on every side ; 
And the legions of the invader 

Soon were scattered far and wide. 

Children, let this story teach you : 
Those who serve the Lord aright — 

Though the world be all against them — 
Will be victors in the iight. 



130 POEMS BY GEORGK SINCLAIR 

MITHER'S LOVE 

There's a love that never changeth, 

It conies nearest the divine, 
An' its everlasting blossoms 

Their sweet fragrance never tine; 
It's the love a mither beareth 

For the lammies o' her faiild ; 
That's the love that aye endtireth. 

That's the love that ne'er grows cauld. 

In its bonnie, budding springtime, 

Life's an unco tender flower. 
But by mither's love it's nurtured 

Through the bricht or darksome hour : 
Ilka joy an' ilka sorrow 

In her bosom find a hame. 
For her e'e is ever watchfu', 

An' her love is aye aflame. 

Like the dew o' heaven bringing 

Drouthy nature life anew, 
Is her hand in hour o' sickness. 

As she straiks the suffering broo ; 
She's the first aroond the ingle, 

An' the last tae close her e'e; 
A' for love she gies her labour, 

Health an' happiness to see. 

Through our youthfu' days sae helpless. 

An' through manhood's toiling years. 
Mither's heart is ever open. 

Sharing a' our hopes an' fears ; 
Should our pathway whiles be rugged, 

An' misfortune ding us doon, 
She's a friend that ne'er forsakes us, 

Ane that loves when ithers f roon. 



SACRED 131 

Oh ! forget na then her kindness, 

Mind the weary, sleepless hours ; 
When she toddles doon the last brae, 

Let her path be strewn wi' flowers ; 
Though her broo be deeply furrowed, 

An' her back be bent an' auld, 
There is aye a bonnie glimmer, 

In the love that ne'er grows cauld. 



THE ONLY HOPE 

I'll sing a sing, my theme shall be. 
The love of Him who died for me. 
Whose blood was shed upon the tree. 
On Calvary, on Calvary. 

I walked in darkness day by day, 
No ray of light to cheer my way, 
I heard the voice of Jesus say. 

Look unto me, look unto me. 

I looked upon the Saviour's face. 

And from it streamed unbounded grace, 

And now upon the cross I place 

My only hope, my only hope. 

I find the rest that comforts there, 
I find relief from all my care, 
I find a love beyond compare. 

Redeeming love, redeeming love. 

Oh! Saviour, take this heart of mine. 
And fill it with that love divine, 
And make me wholly, wholly thine, 
For evermore, for evermore. 



tja POEMS BY GEORGK SINCLAIR 

THE CHURCH BELL 

Cling clang, cling clang, 

Hark to the old bell ringing; 
Father and mother and chHdren fair, 

Into the Lord's house bringing; 
Cling clang, cling clang, 

Tenderly, gently, calling ; 
Never was music half so sweet, 

As that from the belfry falling. 

Cling clang, cling clang. 

Herald of Sabbath's glory, 
Calling us where a loved one stands, 

Telling the old, old story; 
Cling clang, cling clang, 

Faithfully — failing never — 
Beckoning all to the fold of love, 

Oh, blest be thv chime forever. 



